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.

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.

rhetorical thought.

I have definitely found myself a Sunday routine while in grad school.  I get up, go to my fave coffee shop, Hooked on Colfax, pull out the piles of work I have to do, and spend my time catching up on blogs and wasting time.  Although the table, chai and atmosphere are better than trying to read in my bed, I am not sure this hipster scene is conducive to reading about the history of rhetoric.  However, it has been helpful to have a place to reflect without the disruption of cats.

I am quickly approaching being at home as long as I was away--which is always the hardest part of being in transit.  It is finally the realization that yes, I do live here, and this is what my real life is.  It makes me miss where I have come from--this time Gulu--even more.  Although I can get Pineapple Fanta at my local Avanza, I can't get the burning trash smell or the red dust filling my lungs as I hold on to the back of a boda.  In the past few weeks, I have teetered over some major decisions, or rather desires.  Currently, on the two year plan that I seem to always extend, I am happy with what I am doing.  But what do I do if say, the Communications Officer for ICU opens up?  I debated for an entire day if I should apply, but then spent the next day with three of my students at a Karen wrist tying ceremony.  For what it's worth, I still have work to do here and haven't decided what I want to do when that work is finished.  I am trying to wrap my mind around everything I have learned this summer and how it has changed me.  I feel like I have more of a focus in everything I do.  Critical thought and humanitarian aid are always seem to be connected to everything I am learning and teaching.  But how can I really make others see it, if I don't know exactly what it looks like?  I guess this is why I have my Sundays to think about it, with small breaks of rhetorical theory.

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

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.