One Good Story

"Have one good story to tell people, because they’re not going to get it… so at least you’ll have a story.”
--Lindsey Troup, on returning home

Substitute At Will

by Atim Jessica Millen

When I was teaching in Uganda, the teachers would always challenge the students to a Teacher versus Student soccer game.  Godfrey would always recruit all of the teachers and make a roster for the starters and the substitutes.  Every week, my name would come up on the substitute list and we would all laugh that I would have “great impact.”  On the day of the big game, all of the teachers and students would go out to the soccer field.  The starters would warm-up by running around in circles as the hundreds of students on the sidelines laughed and made fun of their teachers who were clearly out of shape.  I would usually stay to watch the game, too, but would usually spend time taking funny pictures with Komakech Gilbert, Okot Stephen and my other students. 

The last week had finally come.  Lessons were coming to a close as students were preparing for the end of term exams and Josh, Sarah and I were preparing to return to the US.  The teachers had lost every single teacher versus student soccer game, so in an effort to win a game before we left, Godfrey organized one last game before we left against the non-teaching staff.  “Who is the non-teaching staff?”  I asked Godfrey.

“Oh, don’t worry.  You know the people who work in the offices and kitchen, the ones who clean the school grounds.”

“Jess, you totally got this,” said Josh, “You should definitely play.”  I had been feeling a little left out since I had never played.  Even though I had never actually played soccer before, I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to say that I had played soccer in Africa.

“I’ll put you in as a Substitute at will, so you can decide when you want to play,” Godfrey reassured me.

“Okay.  I will be ready this time,” I replied.

When the day came, I was late getting out to the field.  I walked back into the staff room from class and Josh tossed a jersey at me and said, “Hurry up.  We’re short players.  You are starting.”  I rushed to change into my uniform.  When I walked out to the field, the teams were already organizing themselves into their positions.  As the game started, I realized how intimidating the non-teaching staff was.  They were much taller, much stronger and very serious about winning this game.  They were only speaking Luo and were playing very rough.  I even got pushed out of the way when I tried to get the ball.  I felt my face get hot.  I knew that I was nervous, had no idea what I was doing, and was getting frustrated because I didn’t know why the head boy, who was the referee, was blowing the whistle.  I wanted to be out of the game.  I wanted a substitute, but there was no one to come in for me. 

At that moment, I noticed the ball coming towards me.  I looked around and no one was near me.  I knew I had a chance before any of the non-teaching staff players could get to me.  As I ran towards the ball, it bounced so I did the first logical thing I could think of—I hit the ball—with my elbow.  The head boy immediately blew the whistle and called “Hand ball.”  The ball was picked up and given to the other team.  I had no idea what had happened.  Why had he called it a hand ball?  Hadn’t he seen me use my elbow?  I looked up, confused, and saw the hundreds of boys on the sidelines—cheering, laughing.  That’s when I realized that it didn’t matter.  I was standing in the middle of a soccer field in Gulu, Uganda.  I thought of my students back at home.  They were never going to believe this.  I realized then that I had done what I had come to do.  I had built relationships with the teachers and students at Sir Samuel Baker School and had become a part of their school community.  As the final whistle blew for the half, I walked to the sideline, feeling the uneven soccer field underneath my feet.  Please, let me feel this ground underneath my feet a little longer.  I took off my jersey and handed it to my replacement, grabbed a water and joined Stephen on the sidelines, “Madame, you played great.”

Back where I belong.

I decided that as much as I knew I would miss Gulu this year, I couldn't spend another year thinking about and wishing that I was in Gulu.  I could no longer afford to count the days until I might one day return and as much as I want to not lose my Acholi-ness, I knew that I needed to move on.  Not that I'm done because that's impossible.  Acholiland is my pride.  Gulu is engrained in my heart.  It's funny though, what happens after being back after a month or so.  I find myself itching for culture, language and a simple life.  I crave building authentic-compassionate-intentional-yes-I-really-do-care-about-you relationships.  I seem to have a pattern when returning to the US after a life-changing experience and that seems to be investing myself in a {refugee} culture.  After Argentina, it was my Karenni refugee family.  Last year, I tried oh-so-hard to balance my need to be in Gulu, while being present, learning more about my Karen and Bhutanese Nepali students.  But what I have learned this year is knowing that I can't balance these things.  I have to be intentionally present while bringing things that make me Acholi into my everyday life.  Because those things I can do here.  Always.

Soon after I returned, I decided that I was going to fully invest myself into the refugee community.  This sounds daunting, but it turned out to be easy.  This year I get to teach ELD 1 and ELD 2 (English Language Development).  This means that all of my students are beginners or early intermediate English language learners.  Most are newcomers to the country and most of those students are refugees.  The second half of my job is to support these students (and teachers) in their B/EI literacy classes.  Many of these students have very limited schooling, literacy and language.  So needless to say, I know a lot of refugees.  And they like me.  I teach them English.  I learn how to say their names correctly.  I attempt to learn their languages and cultural dances.  And I LOVE them!  They make me laugh.  They make me cry.  They make me work harder than I have ever worked before.  They make me remember who I am.  They make me be present.

So things started to really fall into place when my good friend, Jenn, asked me if I wanted to 

(a) run a 5K (obvi the answer was no until I found out that it supported both Burmese refugees in the Denver metro area and on the Thailand/Burma border)

(b) mentor a refugee family with Project WorthMore

Naturally, I said yes.

Photo cred: Frank Anello, Project Worthmore

This afternoon I got to meet my [TWO!] families.  The first family we went to visit is a Chin family that has been in Aurora for 1 month.  Chin State is in Western Burma. When we got there, I was immediately introduced to the father, mother and the one-and-a-half year old boy asleep on the floor.  They were so kind and grateful that we were there.  After some checking in the refrigerator, Frank realized that they had no food.  When he asked why they had no food, they said their food stamps weren't working.  Fantastic.  Welcome to America.  As Frank tried to problem solve, the three kids that we hadn't met came through the kitchen door.  And then my heart danced with excitement.  In walked one of my newly enrolled 7th graders! When he saw me, he immediately smiled and walked over to shake my hand.  After trying to explain to him why I was there (without a translator), I told him he has to call me Ms. Millen at school, but can call me Jessica at home.  I am sure it would be so much easier if I just went by all three of my names.

After figuring out as much as we could about their lack of food (to be continued), we left to drive the 3 blocks to the other family.  The other family is a Shan family from Shan State in Eastern Burma.  I met the mother, father and their three-year-old daughter.  We talked for a while about how they were adjusting and what they needed.  When I was introduced I asked how long they had been here.  I was surprised to find out that they had only been in the country for 8 days.  There are so many things that they needed, but they were off to a great start.  I was sitting in possibly the smallest apartment that I had ever been in, yet it looked nothing like one would expect a refugee apt. to look like.  I am so excited to get to work with this family.  

Photo cred: Frank Anello, Project Worthmore

After we left, we went to Frank's house to get tons of veggies from his garden and then to King Soopers for a 4 day supply of meat, fruit and fish oil for a family of six.  We went back to the Chin family's apt and delivered an entire kitchen table's worth of groceries.  As we left, we saw through the kitchen window a family gathered around food, so happy that they were going to be able to eat.  

This is me officially invested.

Photo Update (Photo creeds: Frank Anello, Project Worthmore)

        

 

Coming Home

Last year, it was much more difficult to acclimate back into American society.  Not to mention the jet lag, there was this overwhelming sense that I had left Gulu without being ready to leave (honestly, though, is anyone ever ready to leave Gulu? No).  Culturally, I was Acholi and was appalled at many of the things that were considered normal in America.  This time, though, I was more prepared (besides using simple American appliances).  Was I less Acholi?  No.  Just more prepared about how to deal with reverse culture shock.  Bringing home 3 boxes of African Tea certainly helped.  However, what I wasn't ready for (no one ever can be) was coming back into a community that is in the recovery and healing process of a recent tragedy.  Someone had said before leaving Uganda that it's usually the opposite--we were in East Africa calling home to make sure everyone was okay, wondering about the safety and well-being of students--people expect that the community recovering should be in Gulu (although it is), not Aurora.

The past two weeks have really made me think about my beliefs and values.  I have had to redefine what justice means to me.  The idea of justice has been all around me the past week of being home.  As I began processing my summer, one of the main events that came to mind was the conversation Josh, Sarah and I had with Okata about caning.  When asked why teachers at Sir Samuel Baker don't cane, Okata replied, "You can't fight violence with violence."  For some reason, maybe it was my way of processing the Aurora Theater Shooting, this kept coming into my mind.  You can't fight violence with violence.

Without getting super political, I had never really thought about what I thought about the death penalty.  Yes, I had written a persuasive essay in 10th grade about it--but cannot remember which side I sided with.  Last weekend, I had a really good conversation with one of my best friends about the death penalty.  I asked her what she thought and she said that she would never want to be responsible for taking someone's life, then she cited this article.  At that point, I questioned my own beliefs--what do I believe?  And then I wondered, if/when Joseph Kony is caught, what would justice be for him?  I don't know.  I have always said that I want him to be caught, tried in the International Criminal Court, and brought to justice.  But I don't know what the justice looks like.  Does the death penalty bring justice to 12 lives?  What about tens of thousands?  Then I realized that Kony could never be brought to justice on this Earth.

The next day, I went to church only to hear a sermon about what? About justice.  "It's the Lord's job to judge, the Holy Spirit's job to convict, and my job to love."  Man, Someone can sure hear my thoughts.

I visited the memorial site and was speechless in it's awe.  Just across the street from the theater, I could feel the love that surrounds this community.

                                     

          

With going back to school on Tuesday, I can honestly say that I am so proud of Aurora Public Schools.  From the very beginning, APS opened its doors and hearts to the victims and the rest of the community.  I feel ready (although a bit nervous) to get kids on Tuesday.  We have been briefed by not only the Superintendent but also mental health professionals from outside the district.  APS has hired extra phycologists and counselors to support students and staff.  Not only are they allowing us to talk to our students about this tragedy day one, they are providing us with talking points to help guide this difficult conversation.  I know that we will be okay and we will heal--together, as a community.

So needless to say, this has been an entirely different coming home experience than I have ever had before.  It has forced me, or possibly allowed me, to process in a much different way.  It has pulled me back into my community in a much stronger way and faster than ever.  It has caused me to learn from my experience in Gulu and to be able to actually put it into words this time.  While I am still redefining justice and still developing what I believe, I cannot ignore these connections--they have connected my two homes in a way I never thought possible and in a way I never wanted.

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.

TIA

So I know I haven't blogged since Morocco, but yesterday cannot go undocumented, as it was my most favorite day in Uganda ever. It started with The Recreation Project which is a ropes course. It was supposed to be a partner teacher activity, but my school, Sir Samuel Baker (aka Sam Baker, SSB or The Baker from here on out) was having a reunion so none of our teachers could attend. It was really fun with trust falls, zip lines and rock walls. Sarah, Josh and I left early to make is to school for the reunion. We hurried home to change and left to find bodas. As we were leaving, Michael Jackson told us we had less than 10 minutes till it started raining, but we thought we could make it. We were wrong. We got half way down our street when we could see the downpour coming toward us. We looked at each other and immediately ran back to the house. We made it to the security guard shelter just in time. So we spent the next hour waiting for the rain to stop.
When it finally did, KaCee (who was drenched) pulled up on a boda. I didn't think about it but her boda was coming from Lacor, the opposite side of town than SSB. I jumped on and told Josh and Sarah that I'd meet them there. My boda immediately went the wrong way. I was trying to communicate this to him but I don't think he spoke English. He eventually stopped to ask for directions. When we were about halfway there, he still had no idea where we were (luckily, I did). He pulled over at another boda stand so that I could switch boda drivers. As I pulled away with my competent boda driver, he told me that he completed O level ( the first part of secondary school) at SSB. (He also completed A level, the second part, in Kampala, so why he was driving a boda was unclear.) As we were talking he mentioned that he attended SSB from '95-'98. My heart suddenly dropped. There was a mass abduction by the LRA in 1996 where 39 boys were abducted from the dorms at 3am. These boys were trained and later abducted 130 girls from Aboke SS in Apak district 3 months later. My boda driver (I later found out his name was Komakech Joe), told me (on his own accord, I didn't ask) that he was there that night. He was among the student abducted and was in captivity for 39 days. At that moment, I knew I was supposed to get lost so that I could meet this man and hear a small part of something bigger and the reason for me being here. Even though I only shared a 10 minute boda ride with him on a muddy, then dusty, African dirt road, he was able to put my purpose and my presence into perspective. I have heard stories similar to this one before but never so quickly, with such openness, resilience and genuine desire to tell me a story about my destination.
The rest of the day only mirrored my boda experience. We celebrated the reunion of "The Old Boys," alumni of SSB since 1953. It was incredible. After, the 900+ current students, "The Young Boys" cleared the assembly hall for the biggest middle/high school dance ever. All boys, Sarah, Godfrey (our teacher escort) and I showed off our dance moves. Mine, of course, was the running man.
Days like this is when I love TIA (this is Africa) because if I had been worried about time and plans, it would have been a miserable day. However, because I embraced TIA, I learned more in a day than my entire summer last year.

morocco-->spain-->england-->uganda

Whenever I am preparing for a big trip, I am usually running around like a crazy person trying to get everything done.  I forget to live in the moment but am always thinking about the place that I am going.  There is one person who can pull me back in and remind me what (who) I'll be missing--my mom.  One of the hardest things I have done in my life is saying goodbye to my mom at the airport when I am leaving for a long time.  This process is usually harder when even I am uncertain about my adventure (although I would never say that out loud).  

Case in point #1:  My first major trip abroad to Argentina, we both cried.

Case in point #2: My first trip to Uganda, we both cried.

Yesterday, I spoke in front of my church congregation (both services) to share what I am doing in Uganda.  Of course I made my mom go to both services.  At the end of every service,  we sing this song:

May you run and not be weary. May your heart be filled with song.

May the love of God continue to give you hope and keep you strong.

May your life be filled with joy!

And may the road you travel always lead you home.

I certainly believe that Case in point #3 will be my second trip to Uganda/the longest trip of my life.  I haven't even made it to the airport yet.  As excited as I am, it's always hard to leave behind my family, knowing their lives continue without me.  

So the plan is this:

Morocco with Maren and Nikki (Maren and I met Nikki in Argentina)

Spain with Maren

 London with Dana, Josh and Sarah (These are Teacher Exchange teachers who will be going to Uganda with me.  Dana and Josh both live in Denver)

 Uganda with T/EX where I will be teaching at Sir Samuel Baker Secondary School with the lovely Oola Elizabeth (and Josh and Sarah)

And may the road I travel lead me home.

Sustainable Fashion--A New Obsession

I have a slight obsession with any kind of sustainable fashion.  It started with Invisible Children MEND and has grown exponentially (both my obsession and the market for it).  I love that I can wear something that not only stands for something but is also impacting someone else's life in a sustainable way.  

Sustainability has become a priority for me when thinking about charity, non-profits, NGOs and humanitarian aid.  Very frequently, Americans send their money somewhere not really knowing where it is actually going.  Or we send large amounts of charitable contributions instead of empowering the people that these charities supposedly are supporting.  In the words of Ivan Illich: "To hell with good intentions [. . .] You will not help anybody by your good intentions." 

So here are a few of my favorites--not only are they fantastic, but I like to think of them as "Humanitarian Chic."

• MEND: MEND is an Invisible Children Program.  Bags are designed in the US and handmade in Uganda by ladies that were formally abducted by the LRA, most forced to be child mothers and wives of commanders.  MEND supports these ladies not just in giving them work in a society that might otherwise isolate them, but also supports them with a savings and loan community, functional adult literacy, and a social worker on site.  Although MEND bags are expensive, you get the name and now the fingerprint of the lady who made your bag on your bag.  If you would like to buy one at a discounted rate, spend some time with the wonderful ladies at MEND in Gulu.  I LOVE THEM!  

Rockin' my MEND bag in nyc

• Krochet Kids: Buy a hat, change a life.  Also based out of Gulu, women affected by the war are employed crocheting hats which are sold in the US.  Women are able to send their kids to school and support their families which is a cultural shift in Northern Uganda.  You can write the lady that made your hat a thank you note--just check the tag!  KKi has also started a program in Peru. Can be purchased at Unity.

Sportin' KKi kissin' a peacock

• Falling Whistles:  Quite possibly my favorite because I can wear it all the time and people ask about it a ton.  On an adventure to the Democratic Republic of Congo, Sean Carasso heard a story of boys, too small to carry guns, being put on the front lines with nothing more than a whistle.  I wear my whistle to promote peace in the drc.  Proceeds go to programs on the ground, supporting the rehabilitation of war-affected Congolese children.  Wear your protest--be a whistleblower for peace.  Can be purchased at Unity.

• The Giving Keys:  Keys on chains with words engraved on them by homeless to help them get off the streets?  Sold.  And they're beautiful.  Best part?  It's a pay if forward deal--so eventually, I will have to give mine away to someone who I think needs to be liberated (or whatever your key says).  I already have a couple going to a few friends.

• 31 Bits: Also based out of Gulu (love), 31 Bits employs women to make paper bead jewelry to empower them to rise above poverty.  There are a ton of paper bead organizations around, most with the same goal and doing great things; however, I have a special place in my heart for 31 Bits because you can buy them at my nail salon, fingers and toes.

So, what do your accessories say about you?  I love knowing where mine were made and even who made them.  Not only do I look smart (Ugangalish for looking good, having swag), but I am sustaining communities at the same time.  So when you ask me where I got something or what it is, expect to hear a story.

Munu bye

So after officially being home for almost two weeks, I have really been able to process everything and think about the direction I am going in.  Justine had asked me a week before we left as we walked to the ICU office to shadow mentors, how I was feeling about the trip.  At that moment, I said that I felt like I wasn't taking it all in like I should be and I almost felt numb and needed to go home to process everything.  I had been thinking this for a couple of weeks and as soon as it came out of my mouth, I suddenly came to life.  After much anticipated waiting, I walked with Stella, an ICU mentor, to a home in the nearby village.  We met Muse Peter, the uncle and guardian of a Senior 4 Sacred Heart Student, also by the name of Stella.  Stella, the student, has been receiving the Legacy Scholarship for 2 years.  Invisible Children gives scholarships that covers school fees and includes a mentor to students who have potential for academic achievement and also have vulnerabilities.  Stella is a partial orphan whose father was killed by the LRA and whose mother lives in a village much further away.  Stella's mother is HIV positive.  Stella lives with her uncle in Gulu when she is not boarding at Sacred Heart.  Peter's legs are paralyzed from multiple strokes.  Despite this families hardships, Peter talked about his academic and professional career in the medical field and asked Stella (the mentor) to go into his house to get something.  What she came out with is 3 framed photographs of his children graduating from University.  He proceeded to point to the surrounding huts and houses, explaining how each of his children had succeeded in one way or another and were able to build their homes.  Peter was able to buy his land in Gulu after the Amin insurgency has ceased; it was previously owned by the government. Peter talked about how proud he was of Stella and his own children for working hard and going to university.  I told Peter how I was the only university graduate in my family and how proud I was of my mom for working hard and going to college.  He laughed at the differences in our cultures and ended with an Apwoyo ba!  As Stella and I left, Peter apologized that his chickens had recently died from some sort of chicken disease, but if he had had one, he would have given it to me as a gift for my visit.  Below is a photo of Peter and his granddaughter, Angel.

 
It has never been so hard for me to leave a place before.  In the past when I have traveled, I miss the place.  The people that I usually come close with are Americans or other travelers.  Of course I miss Acholiland and Gulutown.  Of course I miss the other 27 Americans and Canadians I lived with.  In fact, I think because of our close living quarters and our like-mindedness of being both travelers and teachers, it was definitely harder to say goodbye, especially to a small few.

Lauren and I

   Room 2 Girls: Pakou, me, Kellen and Erin

 Pablo and I at Layibi College in our Layibi uniforms

                                                                                                                  
          These people will always be in my heart and I truly hope our paths will cross again, either on a red African dirt road or else where.  I think what made my departure even harder was to say goodbye to the Acholi (and Lango) people whom I had gotten to know so well and so quickly.  Like the North Americans, spending so much time with like-minded people was overwhelming once it had come to an end.  Saying goodbye to Francis, Ario and Bua was unthinkable.  I tried on my last day at school and Ario said, "We must not say our goodbyes now.  You must come tomorrow.  For me, I am not ready."  And for me, I was not ready.

 Ochola Francis, Atim Jessica, Bua Geoffrey, Ario Gilbert

                                   

On Saturday, I said goodbye to Michael Jackson, Carol and Evelyn, the ICU staff that worked at our house.  I will miss Michael Jackson's kind heart, Evelyn's sweet smile, and Carol chasing me around in the morning, noticing that I haven't taken my tea; at night, standing next to the dinner pots and making me take everything.

And also, our Layibi boda driver and friend, Francis.  Francis told us before departing that he had told his mother about us. She told him to take a goat to give us as a gift for being his friend.  Francis explained to his mother that the goat would not be permitted on the transport back to the United States.

When asked if I am ready to leave, the answer was/is always no with tears in my eyes. When asked if I will return next summer, the answer is always yes with tears in my eyes.  When asked why I am not ready to leave and what makes me return, the answer is always the same:  I have never felt more welcomed, more at home and more safe in any other place I have traveled.  And yes, I know it is the people that makes me feel this way.  A few weeks in, Ochola Francis had given me my Acholi name, Atim.  He told me it meant one not from the original village.  At first I was disappointed, I didn't think it had anything to do with my personality.  After a few days, I had accepted it, thinking that it fit my expat wannabe lifestyle.  But now, looking back, there is nothing that sounds better.  Atim means that even though I was born somewhere other than Acholiland, I am still Acholi.  I have embraced the culture in a much deeper level than I have ever before.  For me, I am Acholi.  Acholi bye, for us, we will meet again.

  Although it felt bittersweet for out last weekend, we traveled south to Jinja for bungee jumping and rafting on the Nile.

I am in the third row, red helmet, face in the water

Invisible Children Blog

http://blog.invisiblechildren.com/2011/07/how-is-the-teacher-exchange-faring/

rain, rain, go away!

When it rains in Gulu, it pours—literally. Everything shuts down. When it begins to rain, you are basically stuck until it stops. I have seen many teachers cancel class due to the rain—not because they don't want to get wet but it is impossible to walk to class because the streets turn to red rivers and the rain pounds so heavily on the roof, you cannot hear the person next to you.

Monday, I was teaching a Senior 2 KOBS (Knowledge of Behavior and Self) class with Ario Gilbert at Saint Joseph's College Layibi when the rain came. My boda boda driver, Francis, had warned me earlier that the rain would come around 6. Boda drivers may as well be weathermen. The lesson, which was about friendship, went well with more than usual participation from the students. It is uncommon for students to discuss concepts and ideas in a Northern Ugandan classroom, so KOBS does a nice job of allowing students to open up to each other. Midway through the lesson, as I was explaining the meaning of sense of humor to the students, it had begun to rain. Luckily, we were able to finish the lesson. Although the lesson came to an end at 4:30, we continued well past after 5. I had wondered at first why we were going over the allotted time, but then realized that we were stuck—Ario Gilbert, approximately 70 students and I. No one said anything about the rain but continued teaching/learning as if it were not yet time. By 5:15 or so, the 40 minute lesson could no longer be stretched out. The students pleaded with Ario Gilbert for me to tell them something. I wasn't exactly sure what they wanted to hear, so I suggested that since they had just learned how to ask questions to new people they meet in order to make friends, they could ask me questions. They asked so many questions ranging from, “What changes have you experienced in Uganda?” to “Do you like Akon?” The students desperately wanted me to sing—which I can't—so I asked them to sing to me, “I'm not afraid/ To take a stand/ Everybody...” I love how education here seems so different than teaching in the US, but is always quick to remind me how similar it is. With 70 Acholi boys huddled around me, all talking at once, I suddenly felt like I was back at home in my own classroom.

So the rains continued, but around 5:45 we were finally able to leave the classroom. The classrooms are in buildings but the buildings are separated from each other. In order to make it to the gate, we would have to cross something just smaller than the Nile. So again, we waited—this time outside under an awning. My phone rang. As I searched for it in my backpack, I assumed it was one of the other Teacher Exchange participants wondering where I was. To my surprise, Francis, my boda driver, was checking to make sure that I was okay and to tell me he could come for me after the rains subsided. Every day I am amazed by how caring and hospitable the Acholi people are. I was able to spend the next 45 minutes simply talking with Ario Gilbert. We were finally able to make it to the gate where I waited another 30 minutes for Francis to arrive at Layibi. When we left, the roads were still very bad—flooded and muddy. All I could think was, “Please keep my on this boda in an upright position.”

At around 7:30 (three hours late), I walked into our house to hugs and greetings from my worrisome friends. It is so nice to know that we are like family here. But when it rains, be prepared to hang out for a while and it will be just fine.

P.S. Apparently, the lightning strikes in Gulu have made international news.  Although the lightning is especially crazy here, I am fine.  I refrain from showering outside when we are out of water :-)  The lightning strikes have been very close to our home; however, my mother raised me to be extra cautious so I always make sure I am indoors.  Also, the Acholi people insist that I should not use my cell phone during a storm.  Thanks for thinking about me and the many people who have been affected by the storms.

Uganglish

After officially being in Gulu classrooms for almost a week, I have been working on changing my American accent and the way I talk. `When speaking to Ugandans, us Americans have to speak with a fake British accent of sorts while annunciating and speaking at a slower rate. I also have to use words and phrases that are much different from what I would normally say. It is important to add transitions into all sentences such as therefore and in order to. I am always caught off guard when someone says you are welcome but I haven't yet said thank you. Sentence starters like “Let it be....1000 shillings” and “For me, I like...” are crucial. Teachers don't plan, they scheme, which sounds mischievous.

Speaking in the classroom has been my biggest challenge with my accent. I spent my first day with Ochola Francis teaching Senior 1 Math (Maths in Ugalish) which is equal to 7^th grade. Even with my best attempt at the Acholi accent, Francis restated everything I had already said with, “What she is saying is she is from the United States...” The students mostly laughed and imitated what they believe an American accent sounds like, something like a short and nasally sound. It literally feels like I am speaking another language. Through one of my grad school classes this past semester, I learned that speakers of new languages cannot truly be themselves when speaking in the new language, having to develop a new language identity. This is exactly what it feels like—I can't really express myself the way I normally would. Especially teaching. My teaching style doesn't quite fit into my Ugandan English which will be a huge learning experience to me. I think that being able to teach while being conscientious about how I am saying things will be difficult.

Expect the Unexpected

Expect the Unexpected, not because I am on Big Brother, but ironically, Invisible Children's motto is also Expect the Unexpected and for good reason. It fits very will with TIA, This is Africa, always remembering that not everything is going to go as planned and, frankly, there is nothing you can do about it because TIA. Our expectations were cut short arriving at the JFK airport. Our flight to London was delayed which meant we would not make our flight to Entebbe. This ended up being a wonderful surprise as we were able to spend the day in London.

After what seemed like the longest 3 days ever, we finally made it to Gulu, dirty and smelly. We spent the week in orientations learning about Gulu, education in Northern Uganda, the conflict, and Invisible Children. The things that IC is doing here is truly amazing. I was aware of all of their programs but didn't realize the extent of how big they really were. IC is actually creating a sustainable NGO that is making a difference here. With only 4 expat staff, the IC Uganda office is ran by Ugandans. The community based projects support the education of students and the economies of the villages that they live in. It has been so wonderful to get to meet so many Acholi people and to have been “most welcomed” into their culture.

Monday Lauren and I packed up and made the 2 hour bumpy dirt road drive to Awere with Catherine, where we were supposed to teach. We drove through Odek, the village where Joseph Kony is from (LRA Rebel Leader, wanted by the International Criminal Court for war crimes against humanity) and it just felt plain eerie. Upon arriving at Awere, things were simply just not ready. Our housing accommodation wasn't quite up to our American standards of security. So we loaded everything back in the mutatu (bus-van-thing) and through Catherine's poised explanation, we headed straight back to Gulu. It was very shameful as the people of the village were very disappointed that the munus were leaving. When we unexpectedly arrived back at the house, I saw the 10 faces we had left behind in the doorway. I was overcome with an overwhelming feeling that we had returned to our family and our home. I knew then that we had done what was best for us. I spent the next day at Sir Samuel Baker Secondary School which is in Gulutown where I was expecting to be replaced for the summer. Again with the expectations! I walked in the door of our house to find Lindsey. She asked how I liked it. When I responded positively, she said great, tomorrow you will go to Layibi.

So here I am sitting outside the staff room at Saint Joseph College Layibi. I am a week behind, finally having my first round table with my 3 partner teachers and Catherine today. I will be teaching S1 Math (8^th grade) with Ocola Francis and KOBS (Knowledge of Behavior and Self) with Bua Geoffrey and Ario Gilbert to S1 and S2 (8^th/9^th grade). Layibi is like the Regis of high schools here in Gulu. It is currently the top school in everything they do in Northern Uganda. Before the war, schools in Northern Uganda were all in the top 100, many in the top 10. Layibi has just made the top 100 at #54 in the nation. It is an all boys Catholic boarding private school. There are about 1200 boys here. Everyday for lunch, Pablo, Jenni and I are escorted to a small room with a private lunch with our partner teachers. It feels kind of strange, knowing that the teachers eating in the staff room are eating posho and beans (posho=corn substance that looks like mashed potatoes but is harder). So everyday, I will ride a boda boda (motor bike-ish) for 2000 shillings and back to my house. Currently we live with 15 people until group 2 arrives in which case it will be 30 and Michael Jackson on security detail. I love it. I love everything about it. Every day and every person. Apwoyo ba!!   

what draws me to uganda

http://www.active.com/donate/teacherexchange2011/texJMillen
I have always supported Invisible Children and its cause.  Since the moment I discovered the teacher exchange program about 4 years ago, I immediately knew it was for me.  I had recently taken an interest in Africa but unsure of what my role could be.  It surprised me to learn that so many children were being abducted and forced to commute to remain safe.  I began to read memoirs written by writers who had grown up in East Africa.  I was heartbroken but at the same time inspired to do something.  I couldn’t fathom the idea of what it meant to be an internally displaced person.  I knew about refugees, but the idea of being forced to remain in your country but away from your home and still not be safe was something so foreign to me.  In college, I had studied Ethnic Minority Studies and had focused much of my learning around Latin America.  I had strong understandings of dictatorships and the need for a country and its people to have a fair and just government.  After learning about Invisible Children, I was able to really start to understand the true conflicts that cover Africa.  Each region’s conflict is different, but is ultimately the same.  I remember the feeling I had when I first stumbled upon the teacher exchange program.  I felt excited with and immediate rush of adrenaline that soon turned to fear.  I knew I was not ready.  I had just graduated college and was looking for a teaching job.  I was unsure of where my future would lead me, but was convinced that this opportunity would go beyond my capacity.  Who was I to think that I could change something so grave?  Well, in time and with experience, now I wonder, “Who am I not to think I can change something so grave?”

            I have had many experiences since that day that have led me to where I am now.  Only a few months later, I found my perfect job.  I would teach half time in a classroom and the other half of my day would be working with second language learners.  It seemed perfect and has thus far been both my greatest achievement and biggest learning experience.  Working at Crawford, where approximately 80% of students are second language learners and 90% of students receive free and reduced lunch, I am challenged everyday with outside factors out of my control that students must overcome in order to be successful.  I would have never imagined these obstacles that my students face in my own school experience. 

            Our school community has had a recent influx of refugees.  The first to come was a Somali family who had lived in Kakuma in Kenya.  My first year of teaching, I met Mohamed.  Mohamed, who didn’t know any English or how to write his name, spent his days sobbing.  He was bullied and thought everyone was against him.  I got to know Mohamed about three months into his enrollment because he was in my beginning English Language Development class.  Still hardly knowing any English, he was timid and trusted no one.  Eventually, Mohamed began to feel safe and started to acquire English.  With time, he began to smile, make friends and enjoy school.  My second year, I had Mohamed in my 4^th grade literacy class.  At the same time, our refugee population began to expand.  My classroom had drastically changed since the year before.  Instead of just having Spanish and English speaking students, I had Mohamed who spoke Kiswahili, Bhutanese refugees who spoke Nepali and Burmese refugees both from the Karen and Karenni groups.  Although these newcomers have challenged my thinking both professionally and personally, they have become my passion.  I realized just how impacted these students were after having a conference with Mohamed’s dad the second semester of Mohamed’s 4^th grade year.  He told me that Mohamed was born in Kakuma and had never lived anywhere else.  He had never been to school.  This was surprising to me because even though I knew Mohamed was a refugee, he had always said he used to live in a big house in Nairobi.  The next day, I told Mohamed that his dad had told my about Kakuma and that I hoped he would tell me about it sometime.  Suddenly, he was writing and talking about Kakuma all the time.  I knew he finally felt safe.

 I currently teach 5^th grade math, science and social studies.  I continue to work with second language learners as an English Language Acquisition Teacher Leader.  In my current classroom, nine out of twenty-five students are refugees, including Mohamed (who happens to be one of my highest students).  Most of these students are newcomers and have very limited English.  I am grateful for the opportunity to work with these students because I know they have tremendous stories.  They also have hope and perseverance.  They are able to come to school every day, smile, laugh, learn and know peace.  They are the lucky ones that have been afforded a new life outside of their conflict zones.  Through these experiences, I have learned to always have hope to change something.  Just the other day, one of my refugee students was wearing a shirt that said, “Out of Chaos, Hope”.  It was an inspiring reminder that regardless of where or what someone comes from, there is always a possibility to better one’s life.

I want to go to Uganda because I believe that every child should have an equal right to a quality education no matter where or what they have come from.  I have realized my passion lies in not only teaching, but helping those who have known conflict find peace.  Students cannot learn if they do not feel safe and education is the only way to make a systematic change.  Now, without any doubts, I know I am ready for this challenging opportunity.

I expect this trip to be challenging and trying.  I expect to learn about myself as a person and as an educator.  I expect to learn about Ugandan and Acholi culture.  I expect it to be unforgettable.  Everything else will surprise me.

http://www.active.com/donate/teacherexchange2011/texJMillen