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.

adventures

As students left school at the end of April en route to enjoy their holidays, I also left school in anticipation of having some holidays. Unlike the students who dig, plant, weed, fetch water and firewood, cook, clean, wash, and do other domestic work or find some employment to earn money for school fees, I went in search of some relaxation, exploration, adrenaline, and adventures.

In Kabale I experienced hospitality, graciousness, and gratitude while visiting my sister's sponsored child in a village 3 hours from Kabale town. While driving to and from the destination, I was thankful for having a 4-wheel vehicle as our expert driver maneuvered through the curvy, narrow, dirt roads. Normally I wouldn't find this unnerving, but the absence of guard rails on the mountainous roads and the approach of large lorry trucks that consume most of the road prove to cause many accidents, especially during the rainy season when the roads become impassable and slippery. The actual visit to the village was impressive. I was able to learn about the various programs that happen in the community which are co-ordinated by the organization. In addition, meeting my sister's sponsored child, her family and her home brought immense joy to everyone that I know my visit will be cherished for a lifetime.

In Rwanda, I experienced cleanliness, safety, warmth, and acceptance. When our bus crossed the border, all plastic bags were torn and removed since the Rwandan government effectively enforces the ban against plastic bags. Maybe North America will soon realize the benefit of removing plastic bags and follow the lead of this African nation. In addition, the cities, towns, and surrounding environment in Rwanda are void of any type of garbage, unwanted vegetation, and dust. To maintain such a cleanly state, the third Saturday of each month is designated for citizens to clean the entire nation. During the other days, hundreds of workers sweep, pick up garbage, empty garbage bins, and keep vegetation tidy. Unlike Uganda, all motorcyclists are required to wear a helmet. I felt very safe on a motorcycle for three reasons: (1) I also had to wear a helmet; (2) only 1 passenger is allowed, instead of 2 passengers plus the driver in Uganda; (3) women cannot sit side saddle. The natural beauty of Rwanda: it's rolling hills, green surrounding, and overbearing trees, is enhanced by the way I was treated as a foreigner. Being in Uganda has made me used to being called muzungu, and getting inappropriate and unwanted attention from motorcyclists and (male) pedestrians. But in Rwanda, I was not in the spotlight, nor was I ever harassed by individuals. As I visited a couple of genocide sites, I learned much about the history of Rwanda and human nature. Discussing these genocide sites is not adequately achieved here, so I'll avoid going into detail.

I experienced hiking, child friendliness, and wandering through villages at Sipi Falls. Although it is the rainy season, most of Uganda has been neglected in this aspect. In consequence, Sipi Falls was not as majestic and grande as it has been in the past. Nonetheless, to see the three sets of falls took four hours. We hiked to the top, walking past people's grass-thatched homes, through people's gardens where they were growing sweet potatoes, and through communities where children hollered "muzungu, how are how?". At the top of the falls, we sat in awe for a bit appreciating the beauty. At the second falls, I swam in the icy cold natural swimming pool where my feet felt the slime on the rocks and the force of water going over a short rock fall. To reach the third falls, we descended a completely vertical ladder before balancing ourselves on rocks to cross a stream. The afternoon was needed to rest after a vigorous workout that my body hadn't had for many months.

I experienced "probably the best rafting in the world", as one tour company suggests, in the Nile River. Yesterday, almost seventy people climbed aboard ten different rafts to enjoy a six-hour rafting experience. The first bit was devoted to safety training in the water. We learned the appropriate techniques to hold on to the raft, to "enjoy the ride" after falling out during a rapid, to hold on to the kayak that would save us after flipping, etc. During this safety talk, three members of our group decided to not participate, which left only five rafters in our boat, including our guide. There were ten rapids in total, including some class 5 rapids. Our raft flipped a few times. In consequence, I swallowed a few litres of the River Nile, bumped around in the foamy water, and my instincts kicked in as I swam to the raft. During one rapid, our raft was completely perpendicular to the river, with my body upside down and knocking my friend's helmets. But we defied the laws of gravity and managed to get back upright on the river again. As a result, I got a few bruises after flying in the air. On the long flat stretches, I swam in the Nile, just floating and doing somersaults in the water, and doing front flips off the raft. The most intense rapid occurred at the end, appropriately called the "bad place". Most rafts flip over and people sometimes lose their clothing, and are beneath the water for several haunting and frantic minutes. My team went first, after the safety raft and kayaks had gone. Sitting in the middle, I didn't see the enormity of the rapids as they approached. The people in front of me and beside me both fell over but I threw my paddle away and hung on with both hands while my feet dangled in the air. Miraculously, I was able to stay in the raft, along with my guide and another person. We watched as one raft flipped over and their guide unintentionally managed to flip his body back onto the upside-down raft. Following the rafting, we enjoyed supper and conversing with some of the other rafters. Late in the evening, we all gathered to watch video footage of our experience: people falling out of the rafts, rafts almost tipping over, people sitting on the front embracing the raft in anticipation of falling into the rapid, kayakers saving people and paddles after being capsized, and cheering after successfully completing a rapid. This particular experience has definitely proven to be the most exhilarating and thrilling trip I've done in Uganda (also the most expensive!). I also highly recommend white water rafting the Nile River, since it's "probably the best rafting in the world".

I look forward to a few more adventures during my next two months in Uganda...

God forgive us

God forgive us
Greedy we are
Clearing trees for charcoal
Hungry for money
For God and my stomach

God forgive us
We clear habitats of creatures
Monkeys, gorillas, baboons crying
The curses in abundance
From fellow creatures

God forgive us
The swamps are cleared
We want potatoes, maize, and yams
To satisfy our stomachs
And destroy habitats of aquatic creatures
The habitat of Uganda’s emblem destroyed

God forgive us
Happy we are today
But full of fears tomorrow
With one care but hungry for food

The above is a poem written by one of my english students in senior two, aged 15. The eloquence and honesty with which this poem is written has impressed me. I see the consequences of environmental degradation all around me. But I struggle knowing how to balance the environment and the people. I see friends starving, trying to build semi-permanent homes, and clothing themselves with rags. And I wonder. If they cut down that tree, I know they'll get firewood for warmth, for cooking, for life. But if they cut down that tree, they destroy something else. So, what's right? I don't know. But I know that we can do something about it. And so, I've decided that I will contribute to reducing this problem of deforestation by organizing my students to construct a fuel-efficient stove. With the expertise, guidance, and motivation of another teacher from a different school, together we're going to reduce on the amount of firewood consumed. In June, we'll build the foundation then later on in July we'll build the actual stove, using all local materials of course. This stove, I hope, will limit firewood, but also bring life to my dear friends.

I hope God will forgive us for abusing His creation; including His beloved children, animals, plants, water, air, and land.

flexible

Definition: stretchy, bendy, bendable

This past Easter, I experienced first hand the importance of being flexible, in the physical and tangible sense of the word. My Easter holidays, Thursday to Monday inclusive, was spent in the district of Kibaale (south-west of Ikoba, about 3.5-4 hours driving by car) with a friend. To travel to my friend’s place of employment and home village, we used a boda-boda (motorcycle) which is a popular mode of transport to nearby places. As a female, I am expected to sit side-saddle in a skirt, cross-legged with heels, while holding on to the seat and my luggage, without a helmet, or protective apparel. Because the roads were in less-than-optimal conditions, my body tensed and bended according to the ditches, rocks, and swerves. Coming home from the holidays, I was forced to re-define the limitations of my body physique to accommodate for the number of passengers in our vehicle. The common mode of transport is a taxi which is an over-sized van, licensed to carry 14 passengers yet this rule is arbitrary, most taxis squish 20 passengers inside. Mislead by my friend’s promising words that I would have a comfortable 2.5 hour trip back to Hoima, I instead quickly sat inside a small Toyota sedan. Initially, there were only 6 passengers; 3 in front and 3 in behind. As we circled the town, waiting to leave we picked up more passengers, totaling 11; 5 in front, 6 in behind. A few kilometers after departing, we picked up more passengers waiting along the road where the peak number of passengers rose to 13; 5 in front, 8 in behind. Consequently, I was asked to either sit on a passenger’s lap or be left at the roadside, I chose the former. For over two hours, I began to truly understand how people feel when forced to remain in awkward positions. Interestingly, my body receives sufficient exercises in flexibility as I learn to appreciate and follow the guidelines of transportation in Uganda.

But not only do I develop the physical trait of flexibility, I also admire how flexible my friends are. The landscape of Uganda demands people to be flexible, especially herders, farmers, and agriculturalists. Jumping across small streams of muddy water, descending a steep and slippery embankment, twisting to avoid the sharp blades of grass, side-stepping pests and dangerous animals are all required to continue life in the village.

Definition: adaptable, accommodating, open

Also during my Easter holidays, I began to appreciate the characteristic, or attitude, of being flexible. Not only am I continuing to develop this attribute, but I recognize the increasing flexibility of my friends. As a foreigner with a weak immune system towards malaria, my friends accommodate for my need to sleep under a mosquito net. As someone with a different nutritional background, my friends accommodate for my dislike of beef, my intolerance towards milk, and my distaste towards millet. For their continued and relentless flexibility, I can only say thank you.

I also learn to be flexible as new situations arise that demand my attention, time, listening ears, or helping hand. As I reached Kibaale Thursday afternoon, I was completely unaware of the schedule that lay before me. Equipped with flexibility, I was able to easily and contentedly join in the various functions. I learned that my friend had a goal of erecting a drying rack outside. The poles were already set but the reeds needed to be tied. With a sense of curiosity, I also learned how to construct the rack using local materials only. As the weekend progressed, we traveled a few kilometers to my friend’s home village where once again, I learned how to be flexible. When asked if I would accompany my friend’s sister to the well and to the forest to collect firewood, I embraced the opportunity and immediately set out. When extended the invitation to visit various church projects, I nodded approvingly and walked with my friend to see the eucalyptus forest, the sugar cane plantation, the coffee plantation, the sweet potato and bean gardens. Had I not been flexible, I would have missed on learning much more about my friend and her life in Uganda.

As life continues here in Uganda, I daily learn how to be flexible. My body learns flexibility as I learn how to escape the dust blown from speeding vehicles, how to jump over the line of red ants, how to avoid tripping over my dogs that permanently follow me, and how to properly set my things in my room to avoid destruction by the uninvited rat. I develop the characteristic of flexibility as I agree to embark on new adventures, as I acquire new skills, as I seek out ways of enriching my friends’ lives, and as my senses become stimulated by new things. I hope I continue to improve my flexibility.

home

When the opportunity to participate in a food distribution to schools and community members in Lira, Uganda was presented, it was impossible to refuse. Mid-morning on Friday, I awkwardly climbed on top of a very empty lorry. We traveled to the nearby mills to collect nineteen heavy sacks of maize (corn) flour, in addition to the eight existing sacks of beans and amaranth flour. One hour later, we set off for the distant villages bordering the divide between Lira and the Karamajong. Along the way, the number of passengers seated uncomfortably on top of the sacks in the back of the lorry fluctuated as various villagers climbed on board for a free ride to their destination.

As we bounced over the last piece of pavement, we left the business and crowded buildings of a city behind. In its replacement, we found numerous mango trees scattered between the grass-thatched round homes. The landscape revealed few remnants of the floods that displaced northern Ugandans in October. Instead, the low-lying vegetation was meticulously cut to allow for families to begin preparation for the approaching digging season which begins mid-March. Blackened earth is a reminder of one of the frequent occurrences during the hot season: bush burning. With no public measures in place for fire control, at times bush burning can lead to large-scale crop loss and land devastation. Friends have painfully expressed stories of instances when fires have completely eliminated entire acres of sugarcane plantations, resulting in immense economical losses.

As vegetation became denser, especially near the road, housing became less dense. Where there are no people, there is no possibility to remove the “bush”, the tall grasses, the prickly ferns, the shade-providing trees. Ugandans left this remote place over a decade ago to escape the abductions, the inhuman treatment, and the torture caused by the Lords Resistance Army (LRA). It is only of recent that northern Ugandans are cautiously staggering into once-familiar and comfortable territory. But there are still too many displaced Ugandans, or at least persons who have now been forced out of the Internally Displace Persons (IDP) camps with no home. Many IDP camps have been dismantled by the government, resulting in an increase of people still homeless. A house may be hastily constructed, but no home nurtured.

Our destination was four separate schools where we would deliver the food to the schools and some of the most needing community members. Undeniably, everyone was very appreciative and thankful for the food that would sustain their lives for another month. At two schools, we also distributed some hoes and slashers (knives used for cutting long grass) to assist in the development of school gardens that would ultimately provide long-term sustainability in the form of nutrition. At each distribution site, we jumped off the lorry and unloaded the food. Each recipient held a card indicating some personal information along with the specified amount of food to receive. As the recipient progressed through the assembly line, two bags were filled; one with beans, one with a mixture of maize and amaranth flour. Afterwards, the recipient needed to stamp their fingerprint on the card to indicate successful receipt of the food.

After driving over two hours we reached a small town where evidence of pursuit of development and creating a better community existed in the form of run-down schools, trading centres, hotels, restaurants, and homes bunched together. Large signs posted on wood poles boasted of various well-intended organizations and groups trying to re-establish a safe and healthy community. Driving through these communities, we were greeted with enthusiastic waves, curious and intrigued stares, faces that revealed years of burdens and conflict, people improperly dressed from lack of clothing, and expanding stomachs from poor nutrition. As we approached a functioning IDP camp, I did not fully know what to expect. I can’t say that what I saw shocked me, brought overwhelming feelings of sorrow or pain, or was traumatizing. The homes were small and round, placed alarmingly close to one another limiting any type of privacy that could have been. People sat outside preparing food or washing clothes. Possessions were scarce, if any. But I’ve seen this before. I’ve seen the small, squished homes. I’ve seen the lack of privacy. I’ve seen the labour that is daily required to continue living. What’s different about the IDP camps? Unlike most experiences so far in Uganda, I am less influenced by what I see than what I think. The purpose of establishing IDP camps is what shocks me, brings sorrow and pain, and traumatizes me. IDP camps are created because conflict causes people to relocate from their home in a country where freedom is guaranteed and security valued. It is far more difficult to create a home in a foreign country than in a home country. Yet when you’re not permitted to have a home in your home country, where is home? Home, I’m comforted to know, is not even here: not in Uganda nor Canada nor any idyllic place. Home is found in the everlasting place of peace, of joy, of safety, of love. Heaven.

So, in one important way I can empathize with the people in IDP camps because I, too, don’t have a permanent home. I’m here only because I’ve been blessed with life. But when life ceases, I’ll experience complete peace, joy, safety, love. I’ll experience that Heaven I’m promised.

But Heaven can come to earth. It is here where I see peace, joy, safety, love. Peace when I practice proper ways to resolve conflict. Joy when I share laughter with a friend. Safety when I see food on my plate. And love when the students feel comfortable enough to talk about their lives with me.

"it's not fun being sick"

After experiencing some abnormal pain and symptoms of something a bit more serious than just eating poorly prepared food, I listened to the advice of my friend and went to a clinic to get tested for malaria. Though I take prophylactics which are supposed to prevent malaria, the test results were positive. I took the treatment, which spanned 5 days. One week after I finished the treatment, my body again showed the distinctive signs and symptoms of malaria. Again, I traveled to the clinic and the test showed a small count of the malaria parasite. This time, I was given a much stronger dose of the initial tablets plus some medicine to take after. I am now taking treatment that will last 16 days.

The malaria parasite is remarkably similar to the way in which I deal with many of my sins. It begins small and can't visibly be detected. For one or two days though, I feel guilt and shame. Then life returns to joy and content. After a few days, I am plagued with an even stronger sense of separation from God and bitterness. I repent, although I keep some things hidden, but assure myself I feel fine. Then one week later, the truth and gravity of the situation abruptly attacks my heart. I am reminded of the sin I committed two weeks ago. I need a stronger dose of treatment. I recognize my sin, repent, and commit to change. This is a long process but the result is spiritual growth and maturation, and a proper formation of character.

Being sick definitely isn't fun, as my friend honestly observed as I repeatedly sauntered to the pit latrine or supported myself to stand up. Receiving proper treatment, including medicine, comforting friends, rest, and nutrition leads to positive change. With such treatment, my body will become stronger because I develop some immunity to the parasite. Likewise, sinning isn't good. But it is through sin that we recognize our faults and in which areas of life we are separating ourselves from our Creator. And just as importantly, if we receive the proper treatment, we become more like Jesus.

side note: This blog is dedicated to Jenny Csinos. Her envelope marked "read if you get sick" revealed a letter that comforted me as I lay in pain in my bed. And upon her request, I've written this blog about being sick, though I've left out much of the details because I don't think it's necessary. If you want more information, talk to my parents.

Shalom

This blog is inspired by a recent two week workshop focusing on “Living with Shalom”. Students throughout Uganda united to learn about peace with God, with oneself, with others, with the nation, and with the environment. The training culminated in an energetic, exhilarating, and unifying cultural gala in which community members observed the participants performing traditional dances, songs, poems, or other creative expressions to demonstrate their learning.

The English translation of the Hebrew word “shalom” means holistic peace. Holistic implies that something is made up of many integrated components, where if one aspect is missing then the entire thing suffers. In essence, for shalom to truly exist, every element of life must experience peace, including the mundane and trivial to the complex and integral. Relationships; with God, with oneself, with others, and with the environment must be embraced by peace. But what exactly is peace? Is peace simply a psychological state in which the mind is calm knowing that all relationships are nurturing? Is peace an emotion in which reassurance and contentment preside? Is peace demonstrated in actions, by showing respect and love in all relationships? Is peace individual or corporate or both? Is peace theoretical, something to understand and analyze in order to be effective? Or is peace practical, only fully represented by doing and being? Peace, like so many other virtues, perhaps isn’t meant to be explicitly understood by human kind. Instead, perhaps we must trust God to provide peace, holistic peace. And maybe we won’t even recognize peace when it comes. The bread served for breakfast. The clean, treated water continually flowing from the tap. The doctor’s prescription for medicine to help heal our wounded and ill mortal bodies. The smile of a stranger passing by. The large tree sheltering the squirrel from the passing vehicles. The forgiveness and grace of God.

Recognizing peace is often difficult. My eyes are blinded by the physical, emotional, and psychological scars I see. My ears are deafened by the screams of terror, the cries of sorrow, and the wails of the mourning. My nose fails to smell the fragrance of God’s creation, instead I smell only the ashes from burning vegetation. My mouth thirsts for clean water, for nutritious meals, for variety and balance. My hands feel rough and blistered from the laborious activities daily required to continue living. When all my senses seem to direct my attention to conflict, I become refocused and comforted by God’s promise for peace. Peace came when I accepted the love of my Ugandan friends as we learn to live in unity. Peace is here as I reflect on the friendships I have established and God’s forgiveness. Peace will come as the trees continue to flourish and as we practice environmental stewardship.

I pray for shalom. That each person can individually and personally experience this intimate expression of God’s love. That each community chooses to collectively embrace unity. That each nation rejects the structural imbalances that create an unequal hierarchy of power and control. That the environment is celebrated and properly cared for. May God’s peace infiltrate your life, from the mundane and trivial to the complex and integral.