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.