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)

        

 

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.

My life has changed dramatically--I teach middle school now!

I have officially completed my first week teaching middle school at Aurora West College Preparatory Academy.  I also technically teach two freshman in high school, too.  I am teaching ELD (English Language Development) to 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th graders.  I am definitely having more fun than I was the past three years.  I think it might be a) switching classes after 65 minutes and b) seeing all of my wonderful kids from Crawford.  There have been a few signs that I have come across that have helped me to feel like I am where I am supposed to be.  I will share the most impacting (names are not mentioned to protect ids of students :-)

#1 was one of my most challenging kids last year. He was challenging because he is pretty amazing but succumbs well to peer pressure. He wants to be good but would come in the morning and say, "I'm going to be bad today."  He is also the kid who will work hard for weeks for the poster sized Cougar ROAR I made for him.  So on my first day at West, I was in the auditorium for the 6th grade assembly.  As students are sitting quietly, I hear, "MS. MILLEN! MS. MILLEN!"  I look across the auditorium and standing up, waving, among everyone else sitting, is #1.  Yep, I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

#2 has been my most challenging student by far for just about the last three years.  I have had many laughs with him but also have shed many tears at his expense.  He's not necessarily my most challenging student, but rather my biggest challenge in teaching.  I have had to change my teaching style in numerous ways to support #2 in a positive way.  People ask me why I would want to have him again in my class, and as much as it would be easy to have a year off, I know that the relationship I have built with him will be so beneficial to a successful start to middle school (and high school) for him.  Plus, I do it for my students--all of them.  So Thursday after school, I was walking back to my classroom and I saw #2 in the hallway.  School had been out for 20 minutes and all that were left were stragglers.  #2 was walking confidently back into the school.  When I asked where he was going, he said to open his locker that he couldn't open yet.  I asked if he wanted help--"Yah."  So I watched him open it once.  Showed him how to turn it the right way, gave him some pointers and voila! He got it!  He tried it a few more times and said to me proudly, "Ms. Millen, I know it now."  As we were walking away, he said, "Let me just try it one more time by myself.  But can you wait over there just in case I need you?"  So I watched, thinking about how far he (we) had (have) come.  After he tried it by himself a couple more times, we went in opposite directions.  As I turned the corner back to my room, I glanced back and looked at him one more time.  At that moment, he turned away from the front door, headed back to his locker with a big smile on his face--dimples and all.

#3 is a student I knew in a much different capacity.  When her family moved to the US from Thailand as Karenni refugees two years ago, Meaghan, Adam, Kirsten and I were the family's mentors.  For background, here is a part of my Invisible T/EX application that shows what I learned first from #3:

Please discuss an experience that did not have the outcome that you expected or hoped for, and expound on it as a learning opportunity.
Last fall, I and three of my close friends became mentors for a Karenni refugee family from Burma.  After setting up their apartment and making sure we were prepared to cook their first meal, we went to pick them up at the airport.  I had expected people that I would eventually build a lifelong relationship with after getting to know them and supporting them in their new country.  Several things got in the way of this aspiration.  The first was cultural barriers.  We were never sure how to plan an outing or meeting with the family.  Although they did have a cell phone (which we helped them buy), we couldn’t call them because with our language barriers, the messages were always unclear.  We felt it was rude to just show up unannounced, but this seemed to be our only way to spend time with them.  When we did just show up, we would make a plan with them for the next time we would come over.  Sometimes, after planning that we were coming, they wouldn’t be home.  We also realized that the family was becoming busy and had less free time.  They had begun to build their own support system through other Karenni refugees in the community.  We would try to plan something, and our family was unable to attend due to other plans.  

What I had hoped to be a rewarding experience became disappointing as communication began to dwindle.  We eventually lost touch with the family completely.  It got to the point of being so long, that it seemed strange and awkward to do anything about it.  These were people that we had all intended to become close with, but we all knew we had failed.  I recently saw the father and youngest daughter as he was enrolling her at my school.  Despite us, they have acclimated to American society without losing their Karenni heritage.  Seeing the two again a year later makes me wish I could start over with them.  Looking back, I would have done the whole experience in a different way.  I would have been more independent and not so reliant on my friends.  I learned that I shouldn’t rely on others to change things.  If I want to see change, I need to be the advocate.  

So imagine my surprise when I see #3's name on my roster. On the second day of school, I asked her if she remembered me and she shook her head. I told her, "When your family came to the United States, I helped you. I helped you go to school and I went with you to East [Middle School]." Her reply was, "Jessica?" with a smile..."Yes, but now you have to call me Ms. Millen."

So the second thing I learned from #3 is that I never know the impact I make on my students. Even if it feels like I have failed in some way, I will never truly know. When she said my name, I had goose bumps. What seemed like a lack of support to me, had impacted her enough to remember my name.

And these testimonials are why I made the switch. Best. Decision. Ever.

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

A subtle reminder

I was reminded of my aspirations by a six year old Burmese refugee's shirt, "Poverty shows us who are our friends and who are our enemies." If only she knew and could understand what her shirt said. I realized then that we were doing exactly what we were supposed to be doing at that moment with what we had to work with. So often, I think about how I can escape and I plan things years in advance. Ironically, I can do what I want to do here with a small mix of things I don't want to do. Which will have to work for the meantime until I am willing to accept my own poverty.