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.

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.

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.

I think it's meant to be.

Last Thursday, we (us TEX teachers) received our placements for the summer.  I was actually surprised to see the words "Your School Placements" in the subject line of the email because last year we received everything at the end of March.  I was super excited looking for my name, then felt a slight pang of disappointment.  You see, I had imagined my name under Awere or even Anaka, but when I saw Gulu Senior Secondary with the words "in Gulu town" next to it, I panicked.  Because of what happened last year, I had mainly decided to go back to Uganda so that I could have the village experience that I was supposed to have had.  I was even more disappointed that Awere wasn't even an option this year.  Of course, I immediately emailed Catherine to find out if there was any way I could be out of Gulu town.

Catherine did do some stellar work, finding a way to make it happen.  However, I had already started thinking about Gulu Senior Secondary (aka Gulu SS) and letting it sink in.  The actual reason that I chose to return was because of the wonderful friends I had made that live in Gulutown. I no longer feel like I have to "prove" to myself that I can do a village, because I can--it just hasn't worked out this way.  Maybe it's just not meant to be for me to be in a village.  Maybe two years in a row of thinking I'm going to a village but really ending up in town is meant to be.  Despite my initial disappointment, I am so excited to work at Gulu SS.  From looking at my friends' pictures who were placed there last year, I already know the experience will be drastically different from Layibi.  And who knows--things may change again.  Let me remind myself to not set expectations for this journey, as they will ultimately be shattered and built up to be something better.  Besides, I already have a really good boda boda driver and I wouldn't want another munu to steal him away from me.

Here's a bit of info about Gulu SS taken from the IC FB (Photo Creds: Invisible Children)

GULU SENIOR SECONDARY SCHOOL

School Type:

 

Day School

Enrollment:

 

Girls: 685 / Boys: 989

Founded in:

 

1960

Student/Classroom Ratio:

 

180:1

Student/Latrine Ratio:

 

Girls: 118:1 / Boys: 71:1

KOBS/READ Implemented:

 

Yes

Founded in 1960, Gulu SS has long been caught in the middle of the conflict. During the Liberation War in 1979, Gulu Senior was used as a frontline for Idi Amin’s military coup. Between 1985 and 1986, the school was also involved in the conflict in which current President Yoweri Museveni overthrew Tito Okello. During this time, soldiers looted the school and used the desks as firewood. The school also became a battlefront for Alice Lakwena’s Holy Spirit Movement (the precursor to the LRA) between 1986 and 1989, during which many displaced people from the suburbs came to loot the school.

There are currently over 1400 students attending the school, 75% percent of whom are total or partial orphans, or considered extremely needy. Many of the orphaned students cannot afford school fees and are continuously forced to take leaves of absence due to their inability to pay these fees. Still, teachers average about 104 students per class. Ninety percent of the students have never used a computer and access to books is severely limited by the lack of a library. The structures are in extremely poor condition, with termite infested walls and floors turning to mud during the rainy season.Previous rounds of fundraising resulted in the complete renovation of the school labs and provided a large quantity of equipment and chemicals. The lab renovation offered an opportunity to create a rainwater harvesting distribution system that has six faucets as opposed to the single faucet they previously had. A six stance girls’ latrine was the first step towards solving the huge sanitation problem for students, with the renovated staff latrines helping the teachers and school administration.
We have supplied the school with a limited amount of core textbooks and we’ve also been able to assist the staff through teacher trainings, psychosocial support for guidance counselors along with financial management, record keeping and computer literacy trainings. 

The school development committee has continually advocated for the desperately needed all- purpose library and function hall. With this in mind, we embarked on the largest Schools for Schools project to date: the Gulu Senior Multipurpose Hall will include a large library and auditorium over two stories. The funds raised under Round III will only partially complete the multipurpose hall, meaning the majority of future funds will automatically be applied to this project until complete. If Round IV proves to be successful, this project could well be finished with a year from breaking ground.

...and it's only Tuesday!

Although this may prove to be the longest week of my life, I have two student quotes that cannot go unmentioned.
1. V: Miss, why don't you teach math and science anymore?
Me: Because I have a new job.
V: That sucks.
Me: Why?
V: Well now you teach ELD and you already know English.  Don't you miss discovering things with us like last year in science.
Me:  Yes. Very much.

2. J: Miss, will you be here next year?
Me: As far as I know, why?
J: Because I just realized that there are 3 Hunger Games books and I don't think our book club can read them all this year.  Can we meet next year, too?
Me: Yes! (Oh the joy of tricking kids into reading something that they realize they love!)

Tuesdays are tough, but these are wonderful kids.  It also helps to have Tuesday night Date Nights with Maren.  Maybe I will make it to Friday after all...

Passion+Cause=Purpose

I just wish I could teach my kids this. It took me 28 years to learn.

http://www.forbes.com/sites/jessicahagy/2011/11/30/how-to-be-interesting/