Welcome Back

After a two month stint out of the country, it's always nice to be welcomed back--especially when you're coming from a place where you have never felt more welcome.  A place that's hard to leave.  A place that you can only ask yourself, "How do I walk away from this now?"  A place that with every last step I pause, just so that I can feel this ground underneath my feet for a little longer.

There's only one person who can truly welcome you home for the first time with complete sincerity.  And you only have to answer a few questions first:
Are you traveling alone?
Where are you coming from?
Why were you there?
What's your occupation?

And with a definitive stamp on my passport, the immigration officer says, "Welcome back."

How to Cook an Acholi Meal {Not for the Faint of Heart}

When I first heard that Josh, Sarah and I were staying after school to go to Doris' house to slaughter a chicken for dinner, I didn't actually think that we were going to slaughter the chicken.  Well, I was wrong.  Click here  for the first phase of slaughtering a chicken.

The second phase of slaughtering a chicken is to pluck it's feathers, pictured here:

Phase three is putting the whole chicken on the fire to burn off any extra feathers (and keep the pussy cat away).

 Phase 4:  EWWWWWW, don't eat these parts.  Gross!

Phase 5:  Cut the chicken into pieces at the joints.

 These are all of the usable parts.  Yes, even the eggs.  In Acholi culture, the eggs are given to the husband as a sign of respect.  Doris and Okata are both teachers at SSBS, but are not married to each other (although they are both married and live away from their spouses).  However, Okata got to eat the eggs.

Phase 6: Cooking of the chicken stew.  First put in cooking oil and onions.  Then add carrots and garlic.  Then add a fresh chicken.

 Phase 7: Cook the side dishes.  Irish potatoes and fresh pineapple.

 DINNER IS SERVED!

Phase 8:  Thank the Lord for our food, eat and enjoy!  (Yes, that is a gizzard on my plate.  In Acholi culture, the visitor should always eat the gizzard as an honor.  If the visitor is not given the gizzard, then they are not welcomed.)

This night spent with Doris and Okata was by far the best Acholi meal I had ever had.  The food was fantastic (obvi) but the conversation was even better.  Sitting around Doris' living room with the florescent light blinking on and off continuously, we talked about family, beliefs and the insurgency.  As it grew dark, I couldn't help to imagine where we were and how unsafe it would have been for us to be there only six years before.
 We learned of the reputation that the school had had--stubborn, undisciplined boys--and then the current teachers that came in after to change it for the better.  This SSBS that they spoke of was unimaginable to us, so how did they get to this point?  It's simple.  Caring about their students.  Getting to know them.  Being Fair.  Stop caning.  Josh asked why they don't cane at SSBS.  The reply was that it's against the law.  True.  But all the other schools cane.  We've heard about it.  I've seen it.  We have many students impacted by the insurgency.  Many were held captive.  Many are former child soldiers.  How many?  In some classes, half of the students.  They are still going through rehabilitation, recovery.  We can't fight violence with violence.  We never know what would happen if we caned someone that has grown up surrounded by violence.  And I suddenly have a profound sense of respect for my partner teachers.  I have to swallow it because it might come out in the form of tears.

Kin Gang

I knew three days before I left last year that I was coming back. I knew it was the people pulling me in and I wasn't finished yet. But what exactly it was, i just couldn't put my finger on it. Returning has been a great experience but so different. In a way, I picked up right where I left off--although at a new school, I had already began building my relationship with Sam Baker (the school not the man who freed the slaves in East Africa). So what is it that makes me feel Acholi when I'm here? One word. Kin gang. Okay, one word in English. Community.
What's different about community here than my community at home? It's definitely the collectivist culture. At home, I have my communities that are a part of me but rarely do they mix--my family, my Crawford friends that have become my best friends, my AWCPA friends...but that's the trick, I know everyone in my community. Here, it's different. I'm immediately a part of the broader Acholi community. Walking around town, everyone greets each other and smiles. But it's much more than this. It's walking by myself and greeting an Acholi woman in Acholi in unison as she greets me, then her hugging me to show her excitement. It's David telling a random mother not to cane her daughter and her apologizing. It's being followed by a street kid and asking some people in the market to ask him to leave us alone. It's my boda driver calling to make sure that I'm okay when I stay late at school. It's people like Miriam who I have no idea where I met her or how I know her but she knows my name and greets me in the market. It's shopping for vegetables in the market and feeling more comfortable than shopping at Safeway. It's falling up the stairs at Uchumi and everyone rushing to help me up yelling "Sorry, sorry!" It's knowing that wherever I am, I am always welcome. It's carrying on full conversations in Acholi until I run out of things to say with complete strangers. It's introducing myself as Atim and knowing that people are actually starting to believe I am really Acholi and not a mzungu. And it's so much more that I can't even put into words.
So what does this all mean? It means that I've accomplished what I came for. Although I'm not finished, I think I will feel some sort of closure and be ready to leave when the time comes. However, this will not be my last time in Acholi Land because it has definitely become a part of me. I also know that as I begin to seriously think about moving abroad, I think I would be just fine living in a collectivist culture where I am a part of something bigger than myself.