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.”

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.

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.

full circle

Last June, I spent four days in nyc for the first time.  I had never been and took the opportunity while in transit to Uganda.  My time in nyc was well spent, exploring the city with Meaghan and Adam.  Meaghan, best vacation planner ever, filled our days with wonderful food and activities that didn't scream tourists.  I remember lying awake at night on the futon in our Chelsea apt. and thinking about how I was going to repack my bags to not have to pay the overweight fee to Uganda, budgeting how much more money I could logistically spend in New York, and the fact that I was about to embark on an incredible journey to East Africa.  My last meal was delicious macaroni and cheese at Pastis, but with my stomach churning for the next morning's departure, I could hardly eat it.  That last night--and parts of the entire trip--seem so surreal since I spent the next six weeks in Uganda.  I can hardly remember it and didn't really have a chance to talk about it when I returned.  In fact, I had even forgot it happened until I later saw pictures.

My third trip to nyc (in 6 months and in my life) was the culmination of everything that I have experienced in the last year.  I was traveling to nyc by myself (but to meet up with the loves of my life) to welcome 6 Ugandan friends to my country.  They had left Uganda probably with the same feelings I had about going, only to arrive for a short stay in nyc before they continued on to their life-changing experiences.  I wonder if when they return, they'll remember New York clearly, or if it will be a vague, distant memory.  

For me, this last trip encompassed my knowledge of New York (thanks Meaghan Whitney) and my love of all things TEX.  So much led up to this, that once I was there, sharing beers and laughs with Catherine, Jenni, Pablo and Joe seemed like such a relief.  Nothing though will ever surmount watching Otim Walter help Lacere zip up his coat, Rosemary's excitement of how large the busses are and they drive around even if no one is on them, Elizabeth's laughter at Banana Republic and her explanation of its true meaning, watching Otim Walter and Elizabeth order and eat Chipotle for the first time, explaining fountain drinks to Otim Walter and the idea of free refills and watching him laugh hysterically at Sister Act on Broadway.  

 

I so badly wanted to be a part of TREX and was disappointed that my current place did not allow me to be.  But I was and am a part of it more than I thought I would ever be--whether it was selling a massive amount of Agape ornaments or volunteering for the orientation.



When I first started traveling and came back to the US for the first time, I had said that I left my heart in Argentina.  After an incredible self-discovery in Peru, I knew that I had found my heart.  As cliche as it sounds, I know that I have given my heart to Uganda.  It is now a part of me and I hope that in some small aspect, I can be a part of it.

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

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