michelle's mustard moments

bumblebees, bald eagles, and blackberry bushes

2009-09-02T15:23:00.000-07:00

I scrub. I pour water. Then I scrub a bit harder. I try to get the soil out from beneath my fingernails and toenails, from the crease in my elbow, and the tiny places between the toes. I've been playing in dirt again - I've been doing that a lot this summer. And there's something remarkably beautiful that happens when we play in dirt.

When I dig through compost with children while looking for worms, beetles, springtails, flies, and other interesting creatures that help to break down waste, I think about my waste or bad things that can become a joy and blessing to someone else. I've learned that the moments when I'm weak and hurting and confused, when shared with someone else, becomes opportunities of strength, joy, and healing.

When I go to the flower garden with children to pick flowers, frightened faces quickly appear as the bumblebees make their presence known. I think about how our fear, perceived real, can be soothed and calmed with a reassuring voice and a person who will stay by our side.

When I help a child to touch a tree for the first time and really feel the rough bark, the rippled edges, the soft and fragile moss, I think about how we can learn through touch. I think about all our senses and how to use them to fully experience life.

When I squat by the pond, net in hand, beside a child who is tempted to just jump into the pond to catch a pacific tree frog, I think about how our boundaries can limit us in healthy and positive ways.

When I quietly walk around the meadow with binoculars securely fastened around my neck and listen for a bird's call, I think about the gift of listening: those who listen to me and those who allow me the privilege to listen to them. Then when I find a bald eagle soaring high above the cedar trees, I think about perspective. A bald eagle sees things differently from up above. Sometimes I wonder what the bald eagle sees. And I wish I could be a bird to get a different perspective. But there are bald eagles in my life who offer me a different perspective also.

When I plant a seed in the ground, bury it, then water it, I think about growing. The smallest black seed needs the right amount of water, sunshine, and temperature to grow. It needs to be loved by being weeded, thinned, pruned, and pests removed. And pretty soon, the black seed turns into vibrant colours, into fresh fragrance, into delicious and nutritious foods, into soft leaves, into a space where the wind creates soothing sounds. And with time, patience, love, and grace we too can become something beautiful.

When I give the carrot tops to the cow, and watch as the cow hastily swallows the greens, I think about hunger. Hunger comes in different forms (physical, emotional, spiritual, mental) and when it comes, we need to eat. The cows have taught me that.

When I lead children through the forest and we find a blackberry bush, we momentarily stop and search the bush for some ripe fruit. Then we each pick a few, watch our hands turn a deep violet-red as we put the tender fruit into our mouths. Once the taste remains in our mouth, we continue our walk. I think about all the ripe fruits that I often miss during my walk through life. And I'm learning to stop and pick the fruit before running on.

I scrub. I pour water. Then I stop. Maybe I don't actually want to scrub the dirt away. It's too beautiful.

sights

2009-01-24T15:20:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-13T16:56:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-01T18:04:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-18T08:09:00.000-08:00

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

2008-10-15T09:41:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-18T06:45:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-18T03:54:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-26T03:57:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-26T04:15:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-02T05:13:00.000-08:00

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"

2008-02-15T05:07:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-21T23:48:00.000-08:00

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.

blessing or curse?

2007-12-09T22:11:00.000-08:00

Coming to Uganda has not allowed me to escape the blessings and curses associated with the acquisition of natural resources. In fact, I'm consciously more exposed to conflicting perceptions and understandings. Some of you may have heard that large oil reserves are suspected to be found in western Uganda. After limited public discussions and international debates, oil exploration near Lake Albert has been initiated. Lake Albert divides Uganda on the west with the Democratic Republic of Congo, and is found approximately three hours west of my home in Ikoba. The opportunity of visiting Murchison Falls allowed me to observe some of the initial consequences of oil exploration. Despite park regulations and agreements, machinery is found and oil exploration activities are conducted within unapproved areas. Discussing the effects of oil exploration with a Uganda Wildlife Authority (UWA) employee revealed an acute awareness of, yet indifference to, the destructrion associated with oil exploitation. Just a few weeks have passed since exploration began, yet large mammals have begun relocating due to the obtrusions within their habitat. Vegetation and landscape are no longer untouched, rather fencing and markers are created as boundaries for the employees.

Although the discovery of oil no doubt can create economic benefits in the form of employment, of increased revenue from exports, and of furthering the economy simply by having access to a resource that is defined as necessary for development, oil can also lead to economic decline. Foreign investment and companies will acquire the wealth and temporary benefits rather than the local communities who labour. Additionally, the site of the oil is in a popular tourist attraction, namely Murchison Falls. As a country dependent on tourism for signifcant revenue, to begin extraction of oil in a tourist site will yeild to revenue losses in the tourism industry. Is a temporary source of high income better than a permanant source of stabilized income? In terms of the environment, little is known about the specific effects of oil exploration. However, we are all aware of the ways in which exploiting the environment has led to and will lead to environmental degradation in its many forms. In sum, I disapprove of the oil exploration taking place in Murchison Falls based on the economic, social, and environmental concerns.

But perhaps my disapproval is all too easily identified and critiqued from a foreigner's perspective who daily lives in over-abundance. I know that I will always have access to nutritional food, to health care, to education, to opportunities for travel, to employment, to leisure and relaxation, to spiritual growth, to safety, to loving and supporting friends and family. As a Canadian individual living in Uganda, I don't need the economic benefits of oil. But as a Ugandan living in Uganda, I do need the economic benefits of oil. With a family of over eight children, with land sufficient only to adequately feed three mouths, with an unemployed husband, with children who lack access to education, with fatal illnesses easily acquired but no treatment available, with clothing only to cover a fraction of the body, with wounds continuing to open, am I selfish for wanting money immediately? Or am I a loving mother who truly desires the best for my children? I don't know the advisable approach to such a dilemma. Easy for me as a Canadian to refuse and reject the practices of oil exploration but how do I sufficiently explain my reasoning to the millions of people who daily struggle to eat one basic meal that hardly meets the nutritional demand of the child who labours eight hours digging and planting and weeding in the garden? How do I visit my friend's small, broken, home that accompanies a growing family, and honestly tell them that money accumulated from oil will not be beneficial?

Am I being selfish for wanting to stop oil exploration? Am I consequently hindering the possibility for Uganda to develop, to improve, to be rid of poverty and injustice? Or is my desire to stop oil exploration rooted in my shame that oil exploration too often results in exploitation of undeveloped countries? Continuing to search for and discover oil will not allow Uganda to develop, but I fear instead the oil companies, and consequently the powerful nations of the west, will further their wealth and destruction. Instead of bringing economic stability to Uganda, oil exploration may bring increased poverty.

While I recognize the impossibility of me being able to stop oil exploration, I know I can stop exploiting the poor. Instead of purchasing clothing created by young orphans, instead of purchasing medications that were tested on vulnerable weakened patients in developing nations resulting in unaccountable deaths, instead of consuming foods whose profit does not benefit the depressed, exhausted farmer desperately trying to provide for his family and his family's family, instead of by-passing the fearful, lonely woman on the street who does not know where she will rest her head because she was evicted out of her home, I will do something. I will listen, I will talk, I will cry, I will laugh, I will share, I will borrow, I will give, I will receive. I will experience life with the poor and become one of the poor. Yet is it truly possible for a white Canadian to become one of the poor here? Can I really experience hunger and the fear of not knowing when I'll eat? Experience disease and not receive adequate treatment? Have no bed or shelter to house my body at night? Feel isolation from the community?

I truly am blessed and cursed. I have been blessed with so much (food, shelter, family, friends, education, leisure, health, employment, security), but having results in seeing what others don't have and feeling shame, guilt, selfish. I am cursed because I am blessed.

thanksgiving

2007-12-03T00:45:00.000-08:00

Walking to school early morning on Sunday November 25, I felt the effects of a heavy and loud rainstorm: the moist green grass, the softened red soil and the cool breeze. Not the optimal environmental conditions for attending an outdoor thanksgiving party. Regardless, as I approached the school compound, the cool breeze was replaced by laughter, excitement, anxiousness, and some confusion as 30 students prepared to attend the party as dancers and entertainers. After a hurried consumption of porridge, five day scholars (students who are not boarders) ran to where the coaster buses remained waiting. The white bus soon filled with students, drums, and costumes. After some re-arrangement, the dozen staff members were seated, causing the capacity of the bus to surpass the legal limit of passengers - a common occurrence for public transport. The blue coaster bus was reserved for villagers attending the party, including my host mother. We departed from school expecting to drive the 50 miles to Hoima in time for the church service scheduled at 10 am. Like students worldwide, the bus ride was characterized by songs (both in Runyoro and in English), clapping, and noise. Blue and white decorations quickly identified the site of the party: beginning at the church then proceeding across the street to the home of the Head Teacher (HT). The church service was fully attended, with many people sitting outside because of insufficient seating inside. Following the service, heavy rains prevented us from relocating 500m to the HT's home, so we sat inside the church singing and dancing. Once we arrived at the HT's home, entertainment and eating began. We first enjoyed some traditional dances performed by the students, followed by some speeches and additional entertainment. The cake was cut and served then around 4:00 we lined up for lunch. The party was organized to give thanks to God for His healing power and mercy. The HT had been very ill with breast cancer but miraculously recovered within a few months, although she continues to feel the effects of having cancer. Thus it was necessary to publicly thank God for His healing, praise Him for His grace, and thank family and friends for their support.

As we were celebrating and being thankful, the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting (CHOGM) was concluding in Kampala. At this meeting, of which Canada was a participant, issues surrounding poverty, human rights, the environment, education, and sustainable development were discussed. Leading up to CHOGM, there had been significant media criticism and concern about the credibility and validity of the meeting. Yet I am reminded of the HT's life: although still weak and fighting cancer, she chose to give thanks for the healing that has already occurred. Similarly, we must also chose to give thanks for the blessings we have and trust God for His provisions of our needs. Despite the challenges and struggles, the commonwealth countries and individuals worldwide must celebrate God's power and love even though it may not be fulfilled as we desire. With God's strength we shall continue to fight the evils of this world in hope for the eternal life promised to us.

I am thankful for the many blessings I experience here in Uganda. My physical needs are met because I know I will always be supplied with food, water, shelter, and clothing. My social needs are met as I converse with friends, share experiences together, and learn together. My spiritual needs are met mostly through some highly encouraging and challenging discussions with Ugandans. I give thanks for what God has done, and trust God for His continued provision of my needs as I approach a new year and the Christmas season. Thanks.

satisfaction

2007-11-14T01:34:00.000-08:00

While highly significant and necessary in Ugandan culture, being served meals results in a loss of personal control over the quantity and type of food I eat. Consequently, too often some of my food remains untouched because my stomach has not quite yet adjusted to accommodate the abundant, hearty, carb-loaded meals. To inform my hosts that I have thankfully enjoyed sufficient food, I politely say "Thank you for cooking. I am satisfied.". In response, hosts may accept this statement as valid, or may offer additional food, or may (inaccurately) conclude my distaste for certain foods. Thus I am learning that being satisfied may bring contentment or may bring disapproval.

On a more philosophical note, satisfaction is good because we reveal a level of contentment, of joy, of pleasure, and of wholesomeness. Perhaps more importantly, acknowledging satisfaction affirms the many effective, productive, and healthy aspects of life. We begin to develop a positive construction of the world, in which gratitude, appreciation, and learning evolve. Moreover, being satisfied allows for personal and communal enjoyment without engaging in gluttonous behaviours. We sufficiently enjoy the blessings of God in their many forms, giving thanks for His provisions and promises. In essence, we must be thankful for and satisfied with that which we have: friends, food, and fun, and not lustfully desire more.

Alternatively, satisfaction can result in stagnant behaviours, misunderstandings, disapproval, or lack of motivation. Constantly being satisfied yields a lack of opportunity to improve, to grow, and to develop. Dissatisfaction helps us to understand our weaknesses and failures, ultimately enabling us to strengthen our character and environment as desired. Moreover, we learn about the nature of ourselves, our community, and our world as we identify dissatisfactions because we understand faults and areas for improvement. Thus, being dissatisfied helps us to conceptualize and practice virtues as they relate to our specific situation. Overall then, dissatisfaction is also healthy because we are constantly being challenged in all facets of life.

Now when asked if I am satisfied, I have learned that both the affirmative and the negative are appropriate, reasonable, and expected responses. As I thank my hosts for cooking, affirming "I am satisfied", I must ask myself am I really satisfied? In some circumstances I am, but I also hope dissatisfaction will continue to infiltrate areas of my life in which struggles can become accomplishments, failures become successes, fears become pleasures. A wise teacher here advised me that it is natural for all human beings to have problems. In other words, to be healthy and functional, we must balance satisfaction and dissatisfaction.

net ball

2007-10-31T03:17:00.000-07:00

Within the daily routines, each day boasts of new learning. Whether I develop more Runyoro vocabulary, meet a smiling person full of curiosity, indulge my taste buds in new foods, learn a traditional custom, or gain greater understanding of Ugandan society, I happily rest my head on my soft pillow at night thanking God I am still able to acquire new abilities and knowledge. One of my personal more enjoyable new learning experiences has been learning to play net ball. Foreign in Canada, my only exposure to the game was through watching sports highlights on UBC (Uganda's Broadcasting Channel). Even though I lacked any experience, my curiosity led me to organize a game. With a personal belief that effective teaching and learning is achieved by doing or experiencing, I decided it best to actually play to learn. So, after a heavy rain on a Saturday afternoon, I put on my sports cothes, equipped with sunscreen and a water bottle, and walked to school for a schedule game of net ball.

With an understanding of the basic rules, we divided into 2 teams of 7 each, and positioned ourselves accordingly. Thus began a couple of hours of confusion, of fun, of jumping, of diving, of shooting, of falling, of congratulations, of disappointment, of questions, and of laughter. I won't go into detail explaining the rules but do consider net ball a combination of handball and basketball. I thoroughly enjoyed being engaged, once again, in organized sports that I returned the following day after church to play again. Amid the visible reflections of net ball, my body reveals my sometimes successful, sometimes failing attempts to play: bruised legs, scratches, fatigues muscles, grass-stained clothing.

Net ball has also been beneficial in non-visible ways, by helping me to demonstrate that females are capable of playing various sports, of throwing and catching, of co-ordination and balance. Whereas males play soccer, females are restricted to playing net ball. To people's surprise, maybe even disapproval, I proudly tell people I have played soccer, baseball, basketball, volleyball, football, and field hockey among other sports throughout my life. Although I don't intend on changing traditional activities, I do hope to provide equal opportunities for males and females. I encourage both males and females, for example, to become involved in playing volleyball. Within the next week, I will begin instructing students on proper volleyball playing techniques and skills. Instead of preparing myself for the football field, I will get ready for the net ball pitch. Perhaps I shall share this new sport with Canada when I return.

why?

2007-10-20T04:00:00.000-07:00

Having correctly answered my English or Mathematics question, I now stand in front of my students and ask of them this particular question: why? Although correct, I want the students to develop critical thinking skills that will enable them to account for their particular reasons for doing certain tasks or responding to situations in a particular manner. To know why something is correct demonstrates a more complete understanding of and comprehension of a concept, an issue, or a rule. In turn, this comprehension will enable the students to respond favourably in similar situations and to effectively analyze future problems and possible solutions. In response to my question, I receive questioning looks from students or bowed faces, silence, and uncomfortable squirming. Undoubtedly, students are rarely asked to provide explanations for their answers. In consequence, students fail to acquire critical thinking skills as well as creative problem solving strategies. Alternatively, students develop excellent memory skills because they are required to simply memorize and reiterate all material taught. By probing, encouraging, positively reinforcing student responses, and using group discussions, among other teachings trategies, I am slowly beginning to yield constructive results. The silence that once haunted the classroom has now become a very dull and faint murmur. But in reflecting on the silence initially produced, I have begun to draw a comparison between the students' response and the western practice of always needing to question our behaviour, our motives, our procedures, and ultimately our lives.

I now ask myself the same question: why? Perhaps the most obvious is why am I here? Why am I teaching English and Math? Why am I living with a Ugandan family? Why one year? Why? Instead of practicing what I teach, namely to think critically about the answer to such questions, I shall follow in the footsteps of my students. I will be silent. In contrast to deconstructing and analyzing such questions, I have faith. I am learning that faith is critical to my spiritual, emotional, relational, and physical health. Faith in God for spiritual renewal and nurture, for emotional stability, for strength in and healing in friendships, and for physical safety allow me to cast aside burdening anxieties and imposing criticisms. Although I fail to completely understand the extent of my role here, I understand that there will be mutual transformation, both in the present and future. The beauty seen, the laughter heard, the people I touch, the heavy rain tasted, and the fertile soil I smell, is enjoyed by, possible through, and continues in faith.

In trying to teach my students critical thinking and creative problem solving strategies, the students have taught me to live by faith. To not always demand answers for questions affirms our reliance upon God's grace, love, and compassion. More importantly, I am learning that we need both silence and discussion, faith and questions.

independence

2007-10-13T00:26:00.000-07:00

As I began preparing an English unit focusing on Independence Day, which in Uganda is celebrated on October 9, I began questioning the perceived and actual meaning of independence. To not be dependent on someone or something, to complete a task or live individually, or to be separate from the actions of others explains independence. Highly valued, taught, and sought, independence proudly defines the characteristics of the people from whom I established my rudimentary worldview, namely the western world. Goals of living individually, obtaining employment outside the family, and creating distinct compartments of life separate from each other penetrate our minds. Conversely, independence is rarely alluded to in Uganda. The entire notion of being individual or, alternatively, communal is not discussed. Rather, life continues irrespective of how society is structured.

Having spent over one month in Uganda, I am beginning to conclude that the social structure of the west is not as dissimilar to Uganda as once perceived and believed. Instead, the difference rests in the way in which the west emphasizes the pursuit of independence compared to Uganda's acceptance of the natural social structure. Although the west idealizes and boasts of independence, in reality the west is as estranged from being independent as are Ugandans and non-western nations. Simply examine the origin of the various products you consume and you will notice that the vast majority are imported. Research the background of the technology you utilize or the entertainment you enjoy. Count the number of people employed before you are able to use a product effectively. Virtually impossible to rely solely on one's own, we must embrace the natural tendency to unite with people to produce effective, or ineffective, results. Such a relationship is defined as interdependence. Interdependence supports our needs and the needs of others including our need to give, to share, to serve, and to befriend.

I cannot even imagine desiring a life of independence. Constantly relying on my own inexperiences, lack of concrete understanding, untrained skills, and immature beliefs would certainly lead to my emotional, physical, and spiritual destitute, deprivation, poverty, and ultimately death. Instead, I embrace interdependence, or the ability to share life while still maintaining a personal sense of accomplishment, of learning, of ability, and of purpose. Undoubtedly, I would have failed to experience many joys here in Uganda if I sought a life of independence: no shared laughter as I unintentionally shower my back with soil while digging barefoot in the garden, no surprised and proud faces as I converse in Runyoro, no welcoming hugs as I enter the internet cafe, no one to teach me how to evict a poisonous black snake from the latrine, no courageous person to spray the unwanted cockroaches, no generous offer to share tea while examining photo albums and telling stories.

Happy Independence Day. I think instead I will celebrate my interdependence by recognizing my need for others: the skills, knowledge, presence, comfort, and resources. Such acknowledgement is not a weakness but an affirmation of God's most important creation, namely humans. I celebrated Uganda's expressed legal independence, but ultimately I unite with Ugandans to celebrate our interdependence. So thank you for sharing life with me and letting me share life with you.

let's pray

2007-09-20T02:31:00.000-07:00

These two words embody powerful meaning and consequence. Not simply sacred to the church, before meals, or during personal devotions, this phrase is as common and expected as the bright light from above. Bidding safe journeys to visitors, meeting a weakened person, discovering mental turmoil, enduring personal or social struggles all demand intentional gathering of people whose purpose is to pray. No longer an indiviual responsibility, prayer meetings are announced to corporately share problems with each other and with God. Upon knowledge of any type of emotional, mental, physical, or relational burden, people nearby immediately petition for God's deliverance, healing, comfort, and love. Belief of God's power is ever present, with an acute realization of God's ultimate control over our lives which sometimes results in pain, suffering, and afflications. Despite such obtrusions, dependence on God is acknowledged and provides spiritual peace.

Alternatively, prayer is not simply restricted to times of struggle. Thanksgiving for salvation, healing, deliverance, and fulfillment of promises is necessary to the health of the church body and each individual person. By recognizing God's power, we ultimately demonstrate understanding that, unlike human incapacity, God saves, heals, and delivers. Publically rejoicing and offering praise attests to God's character and grace. Furthermore, such proclamation not only reveals God's power, but relieves us of blame, shame, or guilt when struggles do arrive.

I am continuing to learn of the magnitude and effect of prayers. Thankfully, prayer has no limitations or restrictions: available to all, at any time, in any form of communication, under any circumstance. Through prayer, we begin to appreciate who God is and how we are intimately connected to each other and to God.

Amen.

liberator

2007-09-06T00:12:00.000-07:00

Of critical importance to learning the Runyoro language is mastering greetings. I have quickly learned that proper greeting is a measure of acceptance in this country, of friendliness, of companionship, and of politeness. Thus, my first two hour language session was spent learning and understanding the nature of greetings. A main aspect of greetings in Runyoro is the adoption of a pet name. With a limited number of pet names, about 13 to 15, I have met numerous people who share the same pet name. I personally share the same pet name as my host mother and my language tutor: Akiiki, meaning liberator.

Liberator. The word invokes images of release from bondage, of making free, of empowerment. Inasmuch as I hope to bring liberation to many of my Ugandan friends, I am equally hoping to become liberated. Historical western practices have created an unequal relationship between colonizers and the colonized. In consequence, colonized nations have been forced into dependency on colonizing nations. Similarly, the colonizing nations are also bonded to their former colonies. The liberation then, of former colonies is intimately integrated with the liberation of colonizing nations from their colonies. In a more personal situation, my liberation from the prejudices, assumptions, privileges, and supremacy afforded to white people is intimately connected with the liberation of my Ugandan family and friends.

Naturally, to share the same pet name with my host mother and my tutor is not simply coincidental. I am called liberator because there are beliefs that the knowledge, skills, and presence of white people bring liberation. My mother and tutor are called liberator because they also share knowledge, skills, and presence to liberate me from the history of mistreatment inflicted on non-whites by whites. Liberation is an intentional process made possible through forgiveness, grace, and compassion. May God bless my relationships with these such characteristics so that liberation might begin.

diversion

2007-08-24T04:13:00.000-07:00

The drive from Kampala to Ikoba revealed concrete evidence of a country attempting to become more developed. Among such reminders were red and white signs warning motorists and bypassers of a "diversion". Rerouted to avoid construction and infrastructure improvement, vehicles became trapped behind each other. A main reason for such diversion is to improve and create. Despite the temporary inconveniences, annoyances, frustrations, and waiting, a diversion will help this country develop efficient transportation routes.

My life has immediately encountered a diversion. I experience inconveniences, annoyances, frustrations, and waiting. Yet I am relieved that this temporary state will produce growth, efficiency, creation, improvement, and learning. Even throughout the diversion, hope and appreciation flourish. Hope for betterment, for learning, for refreshment. Appreciation of the past, present, and the future, of history, immediacy, and vision. I pray my life will continue to be filled with diversions: periods of necessary rerouting away from the familiar and comfortable filled with growth, challenge, learning, and beauty.

home

2007-08-20T09:13:00.000-07:00

Enduring two long airplane rides, albeit with nutritious and satisfying meals and entertainment, a day touring London with other friends, and sleepless nights aboard the aircraft which allowed us no more than five hours of sleep in two days, Megan and I safely stepped on the soils of Uganda. Nonetheless, we have been blessed with traveling safeties, warm greetings, well wishes, and invaluable support. Thank you to those who have been praying for us, supporting us, and sending emails or other communications.

Tomorrow will be my initial encounter with what I will define my home for the next year. I continue to marvel that my dream of living in and embracing African culture will soon become reality. I patiently anticipate each opportunity to engage in Ugandan community, in Ugandan joy, in Ugandan struggles, in Ugandan laughter, and in Ugandan pain. Only God knows how the path of my life will be shaped, molded, straightened, cut, and softened by the experiences of which I choose to become part. Beginning with language training over the next couple of weeks, I will actively seek opportunities to develop and nurture relationships and friendships. Only upon these relationships and friendships can I begin to define my home.
HOME is Hope, Openness, Memories, and Experiences.

shoes

2007-08-15T17:56:00.000-07:00

Just a few days remain before my shoes which are embedded with Canadian mud and American grass will mix with Ugandan dust. Although my running shoes have been in my possession less than one year, they are accompanied with memories, stories, experiences, pain, victory, and uncertainty. My shoes have supported my body running through suburban neighbourhoods, sprinting along gravel pathways, pedaling faster on my bicycle, tracking a football for a touchdown, jumping to block a spike, and various other endeavours. Through endurance, flexibility, movement, and willingness, my shoes have offered me comfort, protection, stability, and growth.

These same shoes will travel with me to Uganda. Additional memories, stories, experiences, pain, victory, and uncertainty will follow. With hope and and humility, I will learn to mold a new pair of shoes according to my life in Uganda. Yet unlike my current running shoes, these shoes will be uniquely Ugandan. They will not possess the Western assumptions, power, wealth, and values. While the wearer of these shoes will offer a Canadian perspective based on personal experiences and limited knowledge, the shoes will ultimately mold to the Ugandan landscape, the Ugandan pathways, the Ugandan mountains, and the Ugandan valleys. Through personal endurance, flexibility, movement, and willingness, these Ugandan shoes will offer me comfort, protection, stability, and growth.

beach

2007-08-07T10:15:00.000-07:00

After a needed coffee stop at Timmy's for those who malfunction without their caffeine, we headed off to Point Franks to spend the day relaxing, playing football, volleyball, and building sand objects. We left the overcast and humid weather in Waterloo, opting instead for the somewhat cloudy but hot temperatures near Grand Bend. Unfortunately I cannot comment about the scenic drive there since I was sleeping in the backseat.

The water was clear, a pleasant temperature, and provided excellent opportunities for swimming, for throwing each other, for engaging in chicken fights (to which I can attest my friend and I proudly won), and for playing football.

Molded, dampened, and shaped from our hands, the neutral-coloured granular sand soon took the form of a sea turtle. Later, however, a family also seeking refuge at the beach strategically placed their belongings in the direct presence of the turtle. It appears this particular type of turtle has now become endangered. More sand later became the mode of transportation rarely adopted by my sister, namely a kayak. Standing waist-deep in sand, my sister was equipped with a branch-like paddle as she maneuvered her sand kayak which was complete with "bungee-wood".

The beach always seems to entice people to bring fresh fruit, candy, and snack foods. After indulging in sweet green grapes, we soon planted a grape forest. Unfortunately, the grape forest was deforested by loggers (also referred to as people's feet). Not to worry, though, I reforested the grape forest, but alas I fear the soils are not fertile enough at the beach to support my ambitious endeavours. Overall though, it certainly was a relaxing and fun adventure at the beach!!

camping

2007-07-23T17:42:00.000-07:00

Gratefully, after 22 years I can finally confidently assert that I have “gone camping”. We arrived at our site early Friday afternoon where I learned how to assemble and position a tent. Once our supplies had been properly unpacked and stored, I began to crave adventure. Equipped with my mountain bicycle, I set off to locate the various trails in the campground. Later that evening, red and orange flames rose from the fire pit as we grilled our pizza sandwiches and later, our s’mores. My first evening sleeping in a tent produced no dramatic stories or exciting events - only a very strange dream. I awoke not to the sounds of animals or humans, nor to the brightness of the sun, but simply because my body wanted to be rid of it’s restraint in a sleeping bag. After a delicious breakfast of my homemade cereal, I enjoyed the company of a friend while playing cards. Beckoning us towards the sandy beach, the sun continued to provide light, heat, and pleasure. With no football to occupy my time at the beach, I began to practice my swimming techniques learned many years ago: front crawl, breast stroke, elementary back stroke, back crawl, side stroke, and varying positions of treading water. Later Saturday afternoon, I welcomed my friend’s company as we explored additional trails on which I had earlier hesitated because of my lack of companionship and therefore assistance. Unfortunately, we were forced to return back to our site when a flat tire became noticeable. After dinner, I went back to the beach to observe a beautiful sunset over the waters, to listen to the laughter of families, to watch teenagers playing baseball, and to think about my future. Warmed later by the fire, I sat in contentment. Pancakes were served Sunday morning after an equally comfortable sleep. I was able to wander around the campground a bit more after I packed up my belongings. Before returning home, we spent early afternoon at the beach. Undoubtedly, my first camping experience has been very gratifying. I am thankful to my friends who encouraged me to use this opportunity to advance my knowledge of and personal encounter with camping. I wonder if “gone camping” will be an expression I can practice in Uganda.

refuse

2007-07-15T15:19:00.001-07:00

Reduce. Reuse. Recycle. These basic actions are commonly discussed, analyzed, and evaluated, yet my experiences reveal a generic lack of practicing these actions that were exhaustively learned in elementary school. Synthetic materials unnecessarily clog our soil, recyclable waste still largely escapes the blue bins laid out on the curb, and pristine commodities are easily rejected to be replaced by bigger and apparently better things. Allow me to introduce a fourth R, and arguably more critical, that would actually limit our need to practice the three R's: refuse.

Instead of spontaneously purchasing one more pair of pants, shoes, cookie bag, gasoline fuel, [. . .], say no. Avoid the sin of gluttony, of possessing too much, of loving money, of loving material possession by refusing to be tempted. While I recognize, appreciate, practice, and approve of reducing, reusing, and recycling, I believe we must refuse. By refusing to indulge our human senses and desires, we begin to practice environmental stewardship. Consciously limiting our impact on the environment consequently produces a healthier environment and appropriately reflects our relationship to that which is entrusted to us by God.

Ironically, the large, obtrusive, grey buildings that sit isolated near the edges of our cities and towns help to perpetuate the problem they have been created to solve. Waste management facilities seek to safely destroy human-produced wastes. Yet perhaps the erection of these buildings satisfies the human desire to consume and dispose. Instead of analyzing how to properly get rid off waste, perhaps our energy needs to focus on how to eliminate the problem of getting rid of waste. In other words, refusal to consume would easily lessen the burden of waste management facilities simply because there would be less waste to stack, less toxins to burn, less pollution emitted from the rotting waste, and less land degradation.

Reduce. Reuse. Recycle. Refuse.

football

2007-07-09T05:28:00.000-07:00

Lately I've consciously been engaged in activities in which I knowingly will not be able to participate in Uganda. This past weekend was no exception. As I laced up my cleats after properly positioning my knee pads, I was reminded that this would likely be my last football game before I leave for Africa. Although this reality does not bring a smile to my face, I still exuberantly jogged onto the dry and hardened field for one more (competitive) game of touch football. To offer you a written description of my enjoyment of football is challenging.

Arguably, football is a defining feature of my life: from learning the basics of hand-eye co-ordination as a young child to competing in the Kitchener-Waterloo Touch Football league for the past two years. Amidst all the games and practices, I fondly recall my childhood where my introduction to the skilled game of football took place adjacent to my side door. Thursday afternoons, my sisters, father and I would change into our play clothes to begin our weekly ritual of playing field hockey, soccer, and football. Those blades of grass, dirt, ant hills, and twigs supported my little running shoes, my bony legs when I fell, and my blond hair as I somersaulted and rolled. Thus ensued over fifteen years of constantly developing my athletic abilities, notably in the area of football, and later together with fastball and volleyball. Although I have not always been privileged to play competitive football in a league, I have often considered many games played with friends and family as competitive with the purpose of winning. I feel privileged to state that in over twelve years and about fifty games, my father and I have never lost a football game against family or friends in which we have assumed either the quarterback or rushing position. Having played with my father for over a decade, we have developed a unique relationship on the football field whereby we understand the reasons for strategic split-second decisions, the conscious placement of team players, and how we will move in unison down the football field. This bond is beneficial because together we consistently complete critical running and throwing plays.

Without getting too involved in technicalities, I want to say thanks. Although presented with very minimal risks and dangers, my mother has supported my pursuit of competitive football. Because of my lack of relative quickness compared to my male league counterparts, I am indebted to my father's teaching of strategy, of proper offensive and defensive positioning, of moving my body to create the desired effect, and of unifying my timing of throwing and running. Competitive football is incomplete without the many fans, so thank you to those who have watched, cheered, and commented on the football games. Finally, thanks to those who have repeatedly pulled out their running shorts, jerseys, cleats, receiver's gloves, and other gear to throw around a pigskin during the melting heat of the summer, the icy chill of the winter, the pounding raindrops, and the blinding snow flakes.

Focusing on the goal, my father runs with determination and confidence.

Playing in the K-W Touch Football league, 2005 (right) and 2006 (below). You will notice I am #10.

Christmas isn't complete without football. In 2006 Christmas took place in Banff, Alberta.

celebration

2007-07-02T08:06:00.000-07:00

As I comfortably sat on a warm sleeping bag, covered with a large blanket and layers of clothing, snug between family and friends, I realized I have much to celebrate. Having filled my stomach from a delicious and abundant meal in the company of friends and family and after exercising my fatigued legs by playing football, the laughter and cheers accompanying the firework display were easily absorbed by my attentive ears. I reflected on the luxuries and privileges I easily and undeservedly obtain as a middle-class Canadian. Yet I am burdened that my materially extensive world contrasts the life of billions of materially deprived people. The question now becomes not one of who possesses more but who is more possessed? While affluence supposedly leads to happiness, comfort, joy, and betterment, poverty is supposed to lead to sickness, death, pain, and sorrow. Affluent nations possess more: more money, more resources, more education, more space, more medicine, more. Incidentally, affluent nations are more possessed: controlled by the advertising companies, controlled by credit card businesses, controlled by money, controlled by human lusts for things. Non-affluent nations possess less: fewer resources, fewer opportunities for vocational change, fewer policies, less available money, less. Similarly, non-affluent nations are less possessed by human desires. Whereas non-affluent nations certainly demonstrate an acute awareness of the spiritual, of God, and of community, affluent nations rely more on human derivatives. In short, affluent nations seem to be possessed by the pursuit of acquisition, while non-affluent nations submit to the power of God for fulfillment of life and of needs.

I wonder how my needs will change, increase, or decrease, when I leave my home of 22 years. But this I do know: I am loved by God. I am loved by my family. I am loved by my friends. Because of God's love I will love. I will love my new family, my new home, my new community, my new environment, my new friends. I will celebrate my life: the riches, the poverty, the beauty, the pain, the maturation, the vulnerability, the talents, and the weaknesses. I will possess less things and be less possessed by things.

triathlon

2007-06-25T10:53:00.000-07:00

Sunday June 24 at 12:45 pm, my father Charles and I began our short triathlon measuring 27 km from Waterloo to Cambridge, Ontario. Through this triathlon, additional funds for my upcoming one year mission trip to Uganda was sucessfully raised. Abiding by the seasonal law of the Northern Hemisphere, the sun emitted radiation and heat that our sunscreen-smothered bodies quickly absorbed. Equipped with five watter bottles, two maps, two hats, one bicycle helmet, one camera, one cell phone for emergencies, one first aid kit, one bicycle, one pair of rollerblades, and two pairs of running shoes, we began our two-and-a-half hour journey. We quickly learned that to change from bicycling to running, the cyclist would go ahead a few hundred meters where the cyclist would leave the bicycle, the helmet, and backpack, and proceed to run at which time the runner would then continue on bicycle. A rather efficient and effective system! Dodging some remnants of geese presence, we passed through the University of Waterloo soon coming to Waterloo Park. Cautiously stepping into my rollerblades, Charles slowly began gliding along the Iron Horse Trail. Admittedly, he quickly gained confidence and comfort as he bladed the five kilometers on this trail. Partway on the Iron Horse Trail (kilometer 7), our friend Barbara sat cheering us on! What a blessing to have fans! We ran and bicycled to Wilson Park where I excitedly packed my running shoes opting instead for my rollerblades. Gaining lost time from a few map checks, my dad and I soon found ourselves at the entrance to the Grand River Trail. Tall trees shadowed the sun, green leaves allowed a slight breeze to evaporate our sweat, and rocks cushioned our running feet and bicycle tires for the next five km. We then rollerbladed and bicycled through Doon Village, past Conestoga College to Homer Watson. This busy intersection was where Charles packed the rollerblades where they stayed sheltered from the pebbly roads for the remainder of the trip. Getting a head start, I began to lightly run down Homer Watson which soon became Fountain Street. Following Fountain Street until Riverside Park, we ran and bicycled exchanging positions twice. As I ran into Riverside Park with Charles bicycling beside me I appreciated the claps, cheers, and congratulations of family and friends. Thank you to the many who sponsored me during this triathlon. I particularly enjoyed reminding myself who sponsored the km on which I was running, bicycling, or rollerblading. There are few other stories to share so I will let some pictures disclose the beauty and fun of the triathlon:

Start: Our home in Waterloo

Km 1: Charles bicycling, Michelle running

Km 4: Charles running

Km 5: Michelle bicycling

Km 7: Our fan along the way! Michelle bicycling, Charles rollerblading

Km 14: Packing away the rollerblades after Michelle rollerblading, Charles bicycling

Km 18: Michelle running up the big, bad hill

Km 19: Charles bicycling down the big, bad hill

Km 21: Charles rollerblading

Km 22: Michelle getting ready for the last stretch of rollerblading

Km 22: Michelle rollerblading

Km 27: Finish at Riverside Park. Michelle running, Charles bicycling

Rehydrating after the triathlon.

adventures on a bicycle

2007-06-17T16:39:00.000-07:00

Yesterday highlighted my last lengthy bicycle adventure with my father before I leave for Africa. I am writing this blog to honour the individuals agreeing to accompany me on these bicycle endeavours or who have hesitantly allowed me to pursue this activity, and as a reminder of the many bicycle adventures I have appreciated during the past seven years. Beginning notably with the two-and-a-half day bicycle journey from Rodney to Waterloo, Ontario, my father and I initiated our seasonally appropriate bicycle trips. Among the countless trips, my father and I have:

- tested the limits of the unity of our aerobic and muscular capacities in the steep hills near Talisman, Ontario while abruptly being reminded of our inability to control the hydrological cycle

- explored extensively the gravel roads and rocky trails of Collingwood, Blue Mountain and beyond including parts of the Blue Spruce Trail, using our sense of spontaneity and my need for off-road detouring and adventuring

- disappointingly retreated from Luther Marsh in search of longer, more challenging bicycle routes

- appreciated the beauty of Grand River and surrounding small villages using a slower and environmentally sensitive mode of transportation

- battled each other up and down hills, mostly resulting in me defeating him to the top only to realize his speed downhill supersedes mine

- too frequently confirmed our geographical location on a map then discover we've actually traveled much farther than anticipated

- covered more kilometers in tourist populated areas on bicycle than attainable inside a motorized vehicle

In addition to my bicycle adventures with my father, I fondly remember my spontaneous early morning or afternoon bicycle explorations of Waterloo Region: leading me towards fertile agricultural land, being chased by property-protective dogs, pedaling harder to pass the relaxing cyclist or slow moving vehicle so that I could be accompanied with the powerful drugs known as adrenaline and endorphins, and more recently adopting a mountain cyclist perspective from within the forested area surrounding the landfill adjacent to the hydro lines only to realize the inadequacies of a simple bicycle to overcome geological formations. Last year was especially memorable because of my bicycle trip from Waterloo to Collingwood, a trip lasting no less than nine hours. A special thank you to Mom, Dad, and my sister Laura for being persuaded to allow me this privilege and for picking up my exhausted body at the end of the day, and an equally special thank you to Doug for energetically agreeing to bicycle with me!

And so, I am sad that next year will not permit me to continue this tradition with my father. Instead, I am praying I will befriend someone in Africa who will agree to share the joys of enduring a five hour plus bicycle trip, adventuring through the wonders of God's creation. Or, more favourably, I will be able to ascend the embankments of a mountain or numerous mountains in Africa. As some of you know, I promised myself that when I return to Africa I will climb a mountain. Even though Mount Kilimanjaro is especially appealing and must be climbed before the snow melts entirely, Mount Kenya has been recommended to climb. Hike anyone?

infection and safety

2007-06-09T11:11:00.001-07:00

Imagine this situation: halfway through a fun yet competitive baseball game, the score is tied and players appear to be evenly matched. With a runner on first, the batter positions himself to take advantage of the strong winds, hoping the ball will effortlessly drop among the blades of grass in the outfield. The echoing sound of the bat contacting the ball is faintly heard because of passing automobiles on the neighbouring highway. Rounding second, the first base runner quickly judges the position of the ball in relation to the location of third base. With some confidence but complete commitment, the runner sprints towards third, realizing too late that the decision ignored the advice of the third base coach. To avoid being out, the runner must slide to third praying that the throw is delayed by a millisecond to ensure their safe arrival. The result:
Less concerned with the actual fact that I was safe, I became increasingly aware of the unique pain and sensations being emitted from the upper half of my lower left leg during the next few hours. Admitting the following morning that I had developed an infection , I began to experience unique sensual feelings from my leg. A small moving creature appeared to be inhabiting the surface below my skin, trying to claw an opening to escape. Foamy bubbles seemed to develop near my knee, gradually descending towards my ankle, then returning back to the comforts of my knee. I describe these sensations not to sound like I have defeated some grave illness and least of all to sound heroic, but to discuss the idea of release. Many of us have these abstract creatures lingering in our hearts, our minds, or our souls. Desperately wanting freedom, the creatures inflict pain on their guards. To be liberated, the creatures and the guards alike must unify in understanding that release is for the betterment of both entities. In comparison to us, that which inflicts pain needs to be released so that healing and fulfillment might be achieved. In other words, as I experience pain in all facets of my life, I realize that the creature must be rid or forsaken so that I can mature and develop as intended by my Creator.

The third baseman asked of me "Didn't your parents ever teach you not to slide in shorts?". Before I provide an answer, let me dissect the question. Being safe meant taking a risk. Arguably though, I recognize that complete safety, to which I refer as sheltering, would have meant staying on second and not furthering my opportunity for success. I knew within a few steps of third base that the only possibility of avoiding failure would be to risk my physical health. Thus, safety required risk. Sometimes, being uncomfortable or taking a risk or being challenged is mandatory to be safe or secure or successful. In other words, finding satisfaction and joy and bliss is imbued in experiences of pain, of disappointment, and of challenging other's advice. So, to respond to the third baseman, no my parents did not teach me to passively journey through life without ever extending beyond complete sheltering. Instead I must take a risk to experience safety.

I think I will take the advice of a ten year old: "Michelle, don't run. It hurts. You go see a doctor.", but not before I conquer the mountain bicycle trail through the hydro power lines; aptly referred to as the Hydro Cut.

music and concerts

2007-06-08T06:07:00.000-07:00

Regrettably, I was unable to join my sister Laura and her boyfriend Doug as they sauntered beneath the melting sun this past weekend at Ontario Place. Attending the Christian Heritage Day, thousands of people happily splashed in the water, screamed on the rides, and wandered the acres at Ontario Place. Most significant, at least to my sister and myself had I been able to attend, was the concert and subsequent worship time guided by Hillsong United. Seated upon the inclined grass, Laura and Doug participated in the worship led by Hillsong. My only involvement with this particular concert was through the few photographs and video footage lovingly taken by my sister.

To those of you unfamiliar with Hillsong, I only wish I could immediately forward a CD to you. One of the dominant modern Christian worship teams, Hillsong originated in Australia and has grown immeasurably, planting worship teams throughout the world. Having produced countless songs and CDs over the years, Hillsong never fails to create new lyrics and music that reflect God's love, the sacrificial life of Jesus on earth, and the power of the Holy Spirit. Strongly equipped with musical gifting, leadership abilities, and a daily life imbued in the Spirit, Hillsong effectively ministers to people while worshipping and glorifying the Savior.

I mention the above as a sort of prelude to what I will soon experience and expect. Highly anticipating this evening, I will attend a worship service at a church tonite. Atypical of traditional and most modern services, Friday evenings boast of songs, dancing, clapping, other creative methods of worshipping God, profound confident prayers, intimacy with God, and a short challenging practical message, altogether lasting hours although incidentally this is not long enough. Although I embrace all these facets I personally await the music time. Ungifted in music, I nonetheless especially appreciate and enjoy the truth emitted through music. I conclude by encouraging you to unify with other people and together worship the Almighty.

re-conceptualization of urbanization

2007-05-25T16:07:00.000-07:00

Urbanization. The term itself stirs paradoxical emotions. Rich and poor, young and old, developed and underdeveloped, modern and ancient, good and evil, purity and sinfulness, certainty and mystery all reflect the complex relationships of urban environments. My perception of urbanization, the trend towards urban environments in which mass numbers of migrants flow from the rural areas to relocate in larger areas, has admittedly been attached to destruction. Although with limited quantifiable research, I have defined this modern and recent phenomena as degrading: both to the environment and more importantly, to the human population. The poor and unemployed rural inhabitants either voluntarily or involuntarily seek hope for an improved quality of life in the urban world. Falsely assured of employment, housing, sanitation, education, and health care, these rural migrants envision a future radically different than their traditional past. Instead of being embraced by the urban and modern realm, the migrants become increasingly marginalized, discriminated against, wrought with disease, and savagely treated. Consequently, unity among the urban poor forms from their shared mistreatment and the urban poor establish what is known as squatter areas. Marginal in size and limited in resources, the shelters the urban poor seek fail to adequately accommodate a person, let alone an entire family. All human senses are enveloped with appalling disgust: constant smell of rotting feces amidst the odors of unwashed human bodies, sight of malnourished fragile bodies daily digging in mounds of waste from the rich for something to fill their frequently empty stomachs, sounds of stories recounting the realization of a traditional fruitful past swiftly erased, taste of poisoned water from the outstanding amounts of pollution emitting from the urban environment, and the feel of rough crooked material erected to blindly direct nature's renewal away from their meek resources. Describing such environments in this manner evidently arouses distaste, disapproval, and a general dissatisfaction. In addition to the reproachful conditions of the urban poor, I am disheartened by the trend toward urbanization due to the effects on the environment. Acutely aware of environmental needs and responsibilities, I am frequently saddened by the actions of humans on God’s creation.

Having recently read a few articles passionately arguing for increased urban ministry that conclude that perhaps the international augmentation of urbanization is a means for God to guide unreached people groups towards areas where evangelization can effectively occur, I am challenged to redefine my understanding of urbanization. The romantic and adventurous ideal of penetrating the luscious jungle forests or ascending steep rocky mountains to the isolated communities has historically attracted thousands of missionaries. Less appealing is the urban environments harshly described above. Yet theologians, missionaries, and followers of Christ agree that the urban environments boast of unreached people groups seeking both hope and faith. Thus, the personal challenge presented by the articles relate to my own conceptualization of urbanization. While I likely will never regard urbanization as an entirely positive process, whether correct or incorrect, I do however maintain a more optimistic outlook of urbanization.

On a more appreciative note, last year I was privileged to hear about a friend’s short experience in urban ministry in Vancouver, BC. I was especially encouraged by his accounts of what God is doing there. Following the converstaion, I have thought regularly about Vancouver, even envisioning living and serving God there, as some of you know. For the current time, however, I anticipate serving God in Uganda.

rain

2007-05-16T07:04:00.000-07:00

I was reminded yesterday of the joy and blessing of rain. Bicycling home from the University greeted me with an intense thunderstorm. With the impossibility of avoiding wetness, I embraced the powerful winds, inches of water, and subsequent showers from passing automobiles. In any case, I couldn't help but silently laugh as my clothing turned from its normal colour to a darkened shade.

Last evening, much of Waterloo Region changed in appearance: tree branches helplessly soared above ground, the sky gradually transformed from sun to cloud, and large droplets of the powerful ingredient needed for growth majestically infiltrated every crevice and speck of dirt. Running this morning with my father was less of a speed workout than a flexibility and agility experiment. Snail oceans (also known as human puddles), branches, and soggy dirt was the foundation upon which my running shoes touched. Coming home, I was freckled with dirt. A natural reminder of human uninvited presence in forests and tranquil environments. The newspaper boasted of public complaints of power outages, of clean up, and of property damage, yet I thought less of the rain in Canada and thought more of the curse of rain in Africa, notably central Africa.

Allow me to briefly explain. The inconsistent rain patterns confusing local African agriculturalists hinder the productive ability of the soil to produce Africa's life support. Extended droughts, accompanied with short and intense rainstorms destruct the land on which central Africa has traditionally thrived. Familiar to each of us is the necessity of water for growth: human, animal, plant, or in summary: the ecosystem(s) in which we each belong. I will not burden this post with emotional reminders of the effects of drought but I will gently ask that the next time a rainstorm destructs an eaves trough, a front porch, a mature tree, or a running route, thank God for the blessing of rain and say a prayer for the countries of Africa depending on rain for sustainable development.

running solo and running buddy

2007-05-08T06:14:00.000-07:00

Last week, my father and I resumed our weekly running time together. For him, this is preparation for football season in the fall. For me, it is a welcome change to the solo running I do four times a week. This year, however, there is also another purpose to running for me. I am training myself to participate in the "Drewitz Triathlon" - a combination of running, bicycling, and rollerblading from my house in Waterloo to Riverside Park in Cambridge, an estimated distance of 25 kilometers. Apart from time spent with my father, exercise, and fun, the Drewitz Triathlon is a means for me to raise funds for my service with the Mennonite Central Committee beginning August 11 in Uganda for one year.

Running solo enables me to engage my mind and body in ways otherwise not attainable. Sorting through challenges, life situations, and small tasks is best accomplished for me while I run. One complete hour of solitude in nature, or worse in suburbia where the cars are coughing their morning gasoline drug, also allows me to draw closer to God. Through running I am reminded of my purpose on earth, God's blessings over my life, and challenges God has helped me to withstand. Notwithstanding, however, running solo dissuades necessary new adventurous challenges brought forth only with the smile and running shoes of another person.

Running with a buddy offers a unique perspective. Destroying previous physical limitations, I am able to defeat what I thought I could not attain. Cramped walking and shortness of breath become more enjoyable with someone else. Realizing each other's strengths and weaknesses offer "friendly" competition. Talking in changing paces creates an environment in which discussion of trivial to the basic can occur. At the very least, and sometimes more importantly, a running buddy provides the needed comfort of companionship.

practice teaching

2007-04-27T13:35:00.000-07:00

I have finished my practice teaching placements for my undergraduate degrees with Wilfrid Laurier and Nipissing University. I wish I could say that my last day teaching was highly successful and effective. Yet, this I know is not completely true. Suffering from pink eye and a raspy throat that left me whispering inconsistently, I struggled to communicate to over 30 students today. After discovering late Wednesday afternoon that my eyes were abnormally itchy, burning, and filled with fluid, I was kindly informed that I likely had pink eye. Not allowing myself to be overcome by this bacterial infection, I purchased over the counter medication to try and remedy the situation. Thursday morning produced swollen eyelids, eyes the colour of cherry tomatoes complete with the "juice", and a throat imitating a sick frog. To be fair though, my throat initially displayed the weariness of teaching one week ago. Having received the legal yes to attend school from the physician, I began teaching. I am sure, however, that I saw more of my eyelids than the students from the constant blinking and closing eyes. Sent home early from my concerned associate teacher, I headed to the doctor for prescription medication for my eyes (I had already received some fluid to gargle for my throat earlier in the week). After awaking from my limited sleep-filled night, due to my inability to swallow comfortably, my eyes were nearly functioning as normal. My throat, on the other hand, lacked any type of coherent purpose. Nevertheless, I drove to school so that I would not be absent from my last day. The extend of my teaching time lasted no more than one period. Yet I can undoubtedly attest to the success of my teaching weeks based on the feedback received from students, teachers, and parents alike. And so, although I have been greatly limited physically, I know that this last day and the last week were definitely memorable. Thanks.

Hundreds of other student teachers have finished their placements this week as well. Of special note, I want to acknowledge those student teachers who have completed their practice teaching placement overseas. Stories of challenges, misconceptions, learning opportunities, adventure and fun, and appreciating a new culture have helped to affirm the privilege of being able to teach in a new country in a new environment. I applaud the efforts of so many wonderful aspiring teachers who have embraced teaching in a foreign country with eager smiles and daunting fears. Having the opportunity to experience a different culture in the context of a profession is invaluable to any person, both in terms of professional aspirations and personal growth.

Thanks to the teachers who have mentored me and equipped me to become even more effective as a teacher. Thanks to the students from whom I have learned much about uniqueness, humour, and the importance of saying "good morning". Thanks to the parents who have partnered with me to educate their children. Thanks to the student teachers who have demonstrated insightfulness to developing stimulating and effective lesson plans as well as encouragement. And thanks to family and friends who have listened to my mock lessons, offered creative adaptations for lessons, provided resources, and have gently reminded me to seek activities apart from teaching.

weather

2007-04-11T16:35:00.000-07:00

It is our second week of April and there is serious discussion of the possibility of having a snow day. In other words, our school board might decide that the amount of snow that has fallen is high enough to cancel school bus transportation. Since I am teaching in a school that relies nearly exclusively on bus transportation, I will not be required to teach.

The previous paragraph is more of a preamble for this next topic of discussion. I read in the newspaper today about some of the effects of climate change on agriculture and weather patterns. I recognize that the weather patterns and agriculture are not exclusive but rather are intrinsically connected. Thus, the weather patterns severely influence the agricultural output. The article described how scientists predict that climate change will modify the type and quantity of agriculture produced in various regions around the world. Africa will endure the most challenging situation. Entire types of agricultural harvest will become extinct in regions of the world once fertile with such productions. Droughts and famine contrasted by floods and intense hurricanes or other naturally occurring events will increase in quantity and severity. Pessimistic outlooks of the future are evident. Although I appreciate the immediacy and saddened visions of the future, I believe that positive change is slowly penetrating society. I have noticed, for example, emphasis in our public education system on environmental stability and consciousness. Nonetheless, I plead with each person reading this somewhat scattered blog to reduce your ecological footprint. Reduce your waste consumption, carbon emissions, energy consumption. A general guide line to follow is to live a simple life.

planning

2007-03-28T16:14:00.000-07:00

For the past few weeks I have been privileged to observe my sister (and her group) develop and create a design plan for a piece of urban land in uptown Waterloo. Since her education at UW for planning, I have grown considerably interested in planning. I will even report that if I had not pursued teaching, I probably would have studied planning. And so, I am dedicating this blog to all the committed and undervalued planners of our times. My sister and I regularly discuss proper and appropriate land use. I am significantly bothered by ignorant and illogical decisions made by various people that result in environmental and social catastrophe. Let me explain.

1. suburbia: In a short sentence, suburbia has created that which it sought to eliminate (among other things): community cohesiveness. In suburbia, we see many large houses, double-car garages, excessive spaces, wide roads. We do not see small businesses, amenities, bakeries, community engagements, or simply people together.

2. low density housing: In a city where growth is increasing rapidly, logic and simplicity show that high density housing within downtown or city limits will assist to stabilize the economy, the environment, and preserve farm land needed to grow food. Yet, the city expands its limits to accommodate for people pleading for more space, bigger houses, bigger cars, bigger.... While driving to volleyball, work, etc. I drive past signs boasting of development and lots for sale, I debate the wise use of land for farming or growth development.

3. environmentally sensitive lands: Respect. Stewardship. Appreciation. Love. Just some of the words that come to mind when I consider how we should actually be treating our environment. Instead of permanently damaging our precious water sources and ecosystems by erecting buildings on land, we must recognize the continual consequences of our actions. I think specifically of the Waterloo Morraine.

Just a few thoughts. Seems this blog took a slightly different twist than intended at the beginning. No doubt I will have future posts about environmental responsibility and stewardship (or I like to refer to as eco-consciousness), especially once I begin my course in May about the environmental and global responses. I also recognize I've written mostly about problems. A follow-up blog shall come soon offering some suggestions, although the most basic is this: waste not, want not, use less.

volleyball

2007-03-24T05:26:00.000-07:00

With sadness but satisfaction, my church volleyball season ended following a 3-2 loss. Not much more can be said but thanks for the friendships, laughs, high-fives, peculiar team cheers, and the opportunity to shout/yell encouragement ... a lot!! Having waited years to play competitive volleyball with Laura, I thoroughly enjoyed the v-ball season.

Here are a few pictures of the past few weeks of volleyball:

welcome

2007-03-20T13:39:00.000-07:00

With surprise and perhaps unrealistic ambitions, I have decided to tip-toe into our electronic global communication system by creating this blog because I want to:

1. stay in touch with friends and family because honestly, our paths dissipate constantly
2. articulate my thoughts and feelings about global issues
3. reflect on life in general (wow - this is taking a very philosophical appearance)
and finally,
4. communicate what I call "mustard moments" - minute personal experiences and beliefs that I believe and hope will make a difference somewhere somehow.

So, please, enjoy!!