I was transcribing an interview with my friend Mama Ayaa this morning, in which she talks about the deaths of many in her family at the hands of the LRA.
Hearing her voice, I missed her, and so I called her up. She was excited to hear me and said that she'd dreamed last night that she was speaking to me. And then she kept saying that she "loved her little girl, her youngest girl, yesterday." I kept saying "Oh... that's nice". I was calling on skype, on the computer, where the audio wasn't perfect. It turns out she was saying that the LOST her little girl yesterday. One of her young nieces who stayed with her after her sister died, died of malaria. It seems like it never ends, there.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
First days in DC
I was walking to pottery class tonight in the dark, at about 9 p.m. It was odd and kind of sad. In Kitgum, I rose and set with the sun. It was weird to be out and cold in the dark night.
My first day back in DC, my car was broken into. Stuff was taken, and subsequently partially recovered, when it was returned to another man who also had his car broken into and stuff taken. This other man's stuff ended up being beneath my clothes in my duffel bag when it was returned to him. He searched through my pockets and found my dad's phone number. My dad (whom I was not going to tell about my broken-into car) called me. Really, really odd.
Speaking of odd. Obama's face is everywhere here. Everywhere. Plastered on glass and painted on walls and mainly on cheap plastic merchandise. I love Obama, too, but... this is odd. I feel a little like I'm in 1984, and Big Brother is watching. Everywhere you go, everything you do, Obama's visage stares down at you. He's smart, he's good, he's true... but he's human. No man can live up to this hype, huh?
Being in DC takes far more courage on a day-to-day basis than being in Kitgum did, for me. Job searching and apartment searching and attempting to write articles and my thesis and trying to get health insurance again and and and, and it's all so stressful.
My first day back in DC, my car was broken into. Stuff was taken, and subsequently partially recovered, when it was returned to another man who also had his car broken into and stuff taken. This other man's stuff ended up being beneath my clothes in my duffel bag when it was returned to him. He searched through my pockets and found my dad's phone number. My dad (whom I was not going to tell about my broken-into car) called me. Really, really odd.
Speaking of odd. Obama's face is everywhere here. Everywhere. Plastered on glass and painted on walls and mainly on cheap plastic merchandise. I love Obama, too, but... this is odd. I feel a little like I'm in 1984, and Big Brother is watching. Everywhere you go, everything you do, Obama's visage stares down at you. He's smart, he's good, he's true... but he's human. No man can live up to this hype, huh?
Being in DC takes far more courage on a day-to-day basis than being in Kitgum did, for me. Job searching and apartment searching and attempting to write articles and my thesis and trying to get health insurance again and and and, and it's all so stressful.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Sunday, January 4, 2009
I'm sore. I went shooting (skeet and trap) yesterday with some family friends.
(Guns are everywhere, like it or not, and it's comforting to know -- somewhat -- the nature of the beast.)
Then I drank some wine, and didn't drink enough water, because we ran out.
(We do have running water here, but it's not potable -- too rusty and full of lead. It's brown. --So for drinking water for us and the dog, we have to go fetch it from the stream in the middle of a nearby park.)
Anyway, as a result of lifting the shotgun, pushing through the recoil, and not drinking enough water, my muscles are dehydrated, and I am sore.
I shot pretty well yesterday; and it was a gorgeous day, lovely to be out in the winter sun.
***
Most people are vaguely interested in Kitgum and what it was really like. A few of my closest friends are very engrossed and ask me questions. Some people have frankly weird preconceived notions about "Africa". One member of my family does somersaults out of conversations to avoid learning what Kitgum is like.
I miss Kitgum. I felt culture shock in Kampala, but at home, at first, I didn't. Home was fun -- familiar and novel at the same time. But it's getting tiresome that nobody understands the things that are most on my mind.
(Guns are everywhere, like it or not, and it's comforting to know -- somewhat -- the nature of the beast.)
Then I drank some wine, and didn't drink enough water, because we ran out.
(We do have running water here, but it's not potable -- too rusty and full of lead. It's brown. --So for drinking water for us and the dog, we have to go fetch it from the stream in the middle of a nearby park.)
Anyway, as a result of lifting the shotgun, pushing through the recoil, and not drinking enough water, my muscles are dehydrated, and I am sore.
I shot pretty well yesterday; and it was a gorgeous day, lovely to be out in the winter sun.
***
Most people are vaguely interested in Kitgum and what it was really like. A few of my closest friends are very engrossed and ask me questions. Some people have frankly weird preconceived notions about "Africa". One member of my family does somersaults out of conversations to avoid learning what Kitgum is like.
I miss Kitgum. I felt culture shock in Kampala, but at home, at first, I didn't. Home was fun -- familiar and novel at the same time. But it's getting tiresome that nobody understands the things that are most on my mind.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Retroactive blogging
I'm planning to continue telling the stories of my last two months in Kitgum on here, retroactively, now that I am back in the US and was able to cash in my computer warranty (it was only THREE MONTHS OLD and a complete hardware error) and get a brand new hard drive.
Happy New Year, and in the meantime, here's a video of two of my neighbors, Sharron (the larger baby) and Amaura (the tiny-baby baby.)
And one more video of me & friends driving around Kitgum, mainly to and from several of the IDP camps.
I know, I know, I know what you're thinking. Aren't I talented?
Happy New Year, and in the meantime, here's a video of two of my neighbors, Sharron (the larger baby) and Amaura (the tiny-baby baby.)
And one more video of me & friends driving around Kitgum, mainly to and from several of the IDP camps.
I know, I know, I know what you're thinking. Aren't I talented?
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
18 Nov 2008
Okay. This is what happened. My hard drive up-and-died! Like, I mean, completely, utterly died. And we have been living in an old KICWA return center, in crowded huts, with no computers. So I have not been able to write anything.
This is what else has been happening:
...The celebration (by nearly the entire ex-pat community) of Cheese Day at Madam's shop!!!
...Gambian bracelets being given away
...Plagiarism, shunning, and conflict transformation
...Gulu with Amanda
...Coins with Oscar ("What a Saturday!")
...OCHA humanitarian briefing
Etc, etc, etc. (This is a reminder to myself to write more about these issues when I find time.)
This is what else has been happening:
...The celebration (by nearly the entire ex-pat community) of Cheese Day at Madam's shop!!!
...Gambian bracelets being given away
...Plagiarism, shunning, and conflict transformation
...Gulu with Amanda
...Coins with Oscar ("What a Saturday!")
...OCHA humanitarian briefing
Etc, etc, etc. (This is a reminder to myself to write more about these issues when I find time.)
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Here is me, listening to Obama's victory speech...
... on a shortwave radio in a soap shop this morning.
(Or at least, listening to approximately two minutes of it before the signal cut out.)
Sigh... he has SUCH a handsome voice....
(Or at least, listening to approximately two minutes of it before the signal cut out.)
Sigh... he has SUCH a handsome voice....
Monday, November 3, 2008
3-Nov-08
Here in Kitgum, I am my only American friend.
This means, despite the fact that everyone’s eyes are on this upcoming election, I am the only one who is able to vote, and I am the one whom the results will impact the most.
Sometimes I really wish everyone else here would stop speculating on it. It makes me nervous and frustrated. Especially because most people assume that McCain will win for the simple reason that they expect Americans as a whole to still be too racist to elect a black president. At least, that is what people tell me.
One of my housemates is a Kenyan Luo man, like Obama. His name is Oscar. My other housemate is a Dutch woman named Floor. The three of us get along swimmingly. This morning, we had coffee together, discussed the election, and I read aloud some Lewis Carroll nonsense poems (“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!”) and recited the first 18 lines of the Canterbury Tales in Middle English. As I am a huge dork (obviously), this means it was a great morning for me.
“Calloo! Callay! O frabjous day!”
Massai traders are coming to Bomah grounds (a soccer field towards the middle of town) today. Because they are from Kenya, and because they are fabulous artists and craftsmen, I am expecting them to have leather key chains onto which they have painted Obama’s face. Ooh, I hope I hope I hope!!!
My other close friends here are, obviously, several Acholi (Janet, JP, Mark, Monica, Sam, other Sam, Akello, etc.) and two Swedish girls (Lisa and Hilda). Recently, I’ve met and befriended a Grecian/Yemenite woman named Sara who is quite sweet. I have many good Acholi acquaintances throughout the town, whom I greet almost daily and exchange pleasantries with (Grace, Pasca, Lawrence, John, both Margaret’s, and, obviously, Madame Flora, my grocer). There are the children I love (Julian, Flavia, Gloria, Hope, Passion, Jojo, Joanna, Dearie, Sharon and Nero). There’s my friend Amanda in Kampala, my friend Kristen in Gulu, and my friend Steve, I forget quite where. And, lastly, there are far more people here who know me than whom I know.
“Rockellay! Affoyo!” I hear from every direction as I walk through town.
“Affoyo ba!” I respond.
This means, despite the fact that everyone’s eyes are on this upcoming election, I am the only one who is able to vote, and I am the one whom the results will impact the most.
Sometimes I really wish everyone else here would stop speculating on it. It makes me nervous and frustrated. Especially because most people assume that McCain will win for the simple reason that they expect Americans as a whole to still be too racist to elect a black president. At least, that is what people tell me.
One of my housemates is a Kenyan Luo man, like Obama. His name is Oscar. My other housemate is a Dutch woman named Floor. The three of us get along swimmingly. This morning, we had coffee together, discussed the election, and I read aloud some Lewis Carroll nonsense poems (“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!”) and recited the first 18 lines of the Canterbury Tales in Middle English. As I am a huge dork (obviously), this means it was a great morning for me.
“Calloo! Callay! O frabjous day!”
Massai traders are coming to Bomah grounds (a soccer field towards the middle of town) today. Because they are from Kenya, and because they are fabulous artists and craftsmen, I am expecting them to have leather key chains onto which they have painted Obama’s face. Ooh, I hope I hope I hope!!!
My other close friends here are, obviously, several Acholi (Janet, JP, Mark, Monica, Sam, other Sam, Akello, etc.) and two Swedish girls (Lisa and Hilda). Recently, I’ve met and befriended a Grecian/Yemenite woman named Sara who is quite sweet. I have many good Acholi acquaintances throughout the town, whom I greet almost daily and exchange pleasantries with (Grace, Pasca, Lawrence, John, both Margaret’s, and, obviously, Madame Flora, my grocer). There are the children I love (Julian, Flavia, Gloria, Hope, Passion, Jojo, Joanna, Dearie, Sharon and Nero). There’s my friend Amanda in Kampala, my friend Kristen in Gulu, and my friend Steve, I forget quite where. And, lastly, there are far more people here who know me than whom I know.
“Rockellay! Affoyo!” I hear from every direction as I walk through town.
“Affoyo ba!” I respond.
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