I got caught in a sandstorm this week while wearing all white, linen pants and all (don‘t judge, it‘s hot here). Then the rain came. Living in the middle of a city I keep forgetting I am also living in the middle of the desert. That explains the camels, eh?

I went to Amber Fort (pronounced Amer by the locals) this past weekend with some friends on one of the hottest days in Jaipur. Amber Fort was built in 1592 and used to be the ancient capital of Jaipur state. So it seemed like a perfectly good fort to visit on my first “fort outing” in India.

My wish to figure out the Jaipur bus system came true when we waited for our bus number to pass 8 times before we were actually convinced it was the right one. I’m surprised the crowd that formed around us did not cheer when the group of foreigners finally got on their bus. However, a man did follow us saying he was coming along and that he wanted to “make friendship with us.“ We ditched him in Old City when we had to get off the bus and take an auto rickshaw the rest of the way. Six people in one auto was a tight squeeze for the length of the drive but I comfortably sat in the back with Tom where we had the perfect view for taking pictures. We saw a lot of elephants along the way, of which I yelled “Hati!” every time I saw one. Unfortunately elephants are not treated as well as cows in this country, and that is an understatement. We arrived at the fort after a long rickshaw ride and climbed dozens and dozens and dozens of steps to actually get to the main entrance on the hilltop. The path we climbed is the walking path of the elephants that walk from Amber Fort most days. At the top we all rested, drank water, sweated, drank more water and then found, within the fort, a Café Coffee Day (India’s coffee chain) equipped with chilling AC. After literally cooling off, we toured the fort and took pictures of really old doors and chambers and walked leisurely down to the road where we caught a bus back to the city.

I’m realizing there is way too much to see in this country in one year, but thrilled I will never be bored. When I am not touring forts and “jewels” of Jaipur, I am thoroughly enjoying Shakira’s “Waka Waka” (the official song of the South Africa 2010 FIFA World Cup), but getting more Bollywood and Hindi Pop music than I usually prefer; all in the sake of learning the language I suppose.

Comparisons and the classroom

India has, so far, not been what I expected. I find myself wanting to compare all the things that I see to my trips to Uganda. I want so badly to experience India for what it is and not as a comparison to an African nation but I’m sure I will get there soon. After all, India proves to be nothing like Uganda and I’m learning that every day with every word I speak in Hindi, every water faucet I turn on, air conditioned building I walk in, camel or elephant I see, toilet I flush, or light I turn on without it failing. Of course Uganda has most of these things, but I am less shocked and appreciative when I come across them here in Jaipur. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely appreciate the AC in 110 degree Farenheight weather, but I definitely expectt it. The one thing both countries do have in common is their hospitality of the locals, their constant staring at foreigners, and their curious nature. Recently I arrived back at R.C. Gupta’s house (my host family) after class and three girls living here were insatiably curious and started calling me Didi (big sister) immediately. Brianca took me out to go buy some towels and made me talk to her male friend she called on the phone while we were walking. I tried to use Hindi as best I could but minor faults in inflection complicated all of my sentences. I’m starting to get frustrated and while my classes are definitely helping me, I have found myself getting worn out easily. Yesterday I had two Personal Tutorials in which you can work on anything you want, one on one, with one of the professors. In one PT I started going through my daily activities using all the different tenses, but by the second tutorial I just chatted about everything and anything with Prem Ji. I even explained to him how I hurt my tailbone and how it affected my 10 mile race in D.C. That was a hard story to tell in Hindi and I failed gloriously. I have to keep reminding myself that I am still barely 2 weeks into my year long program and, with time, I will speak more clearly. Prem Ji and I also had an intense bargaining moment over a pen in the classroom and I ended up walking away because he wanted to charge me too much for it. PTs are definitely harder than regular classes and I got to endure 2 hours this week. After my PTs a few of us went to Crosswords (a bookstore) and Anokhi (a coffeeshop and clothing store) far from our school. The boys went to play basketball, and I am thrilled I decided not to partake. This weather is no joke and an outdoor game of hoops sounds like a death wish here.

More later, I am off to sweat it out in my bed, hoping the numerous references to sweat and heat don’t make me sound too gross over here in India. I bathe every day and Mo can account to seeing me quite “clean” via skype. Can’t say much for her though as she had just woken up and barely working on her first cup of coffee. Hot stuff Mo.

I miss you all, for those who are reading this! Hang out on skype so we can chat! I am on twice a day catching some people either when they wake up early or are up pretty late. Or I have a phone and you can reach me at Country Code 91-756 822 1769.

First Impressions

Upon boarding my plane to Delhi a few days ago I switched seats with a little girl so she could sit next to her mother. That meant giving up my window seat for a middle seat but I figured I should start off the year in India with good karma so I tried my best to zone out her fussy screams and her feet that kept pounding on the back of my chair somehow. Nevertheless I arrived at Indira Gandhi International Airport in New Delhi on the largest plane I have probably ever been on, hauling my backpack stuffed with a few articles of climatically inappropriate clothing. At 109 degrees farenheight at arrival (in the evening nonetheless), there is really nothing you can put on that will make you feel comfortable. This was my first impression of India - the heat.

The first two nights here I found myself with three other girls that were on my flight and the fanciest hotel in New Delhi (the Taj Palace Hotel). Let's just say a guy knocked on our door twice already asking us if we wanted turn down service, and the first time it was 2pm in the afternoon. There is always staff, eerily jumping out from behind corners, ready to wait on us hand and foot. Definitely not the sort of accomodatinos I am used to while traveling. When I was able to leave the hotel we took busses to orientation and then scurried outside into the heat as soon as we could to check out the arts and crafts museum. The man that took us through spoke English poorly and we all could only dabble in Hindi so he explained the most intricate objects and statues as "bowl," "chair," "Vishnu," "oil lamp," etc. All I could tell was that all the objects were really old but did not learn much about them otherwise.

Overall Delhi is quite calm. There are some slightly busy markets and they have the largest and busiest children's playground I have ever seen but it is incredibly relaxed with dozens of people enjoying a Sunday paddle-boating ride in a lake near our hotel. We leave for Jaipur (in Rajasthan) in a few hours where life, I hope, is a little bit more exciting. A city they refer to as the "Pink City" in the middle of the desert where you can find camels and elelphants as daily parts of life can't be too dull. I'm sure my time spent here will become more exciting once our program busses and guides leave us to our own defenses. And by us I am referring to the large group of people I am travelling with. A few will take off for other parts of India like Lucknow for Urdu students, Chandigarh for Pujanbi students and Ahmedabad for Gujarati students, but most of us are here to study Hindi so we will take a 7 hour busride to the desert in our attempts to do so. I hope my stories and adventures become more interesting for anyone who is reading!

Love is a Verb

I have always had people in my life that believed in my skill, whatever I decided I wanted it to be. And the fact that I had an eccentric behavior, they believed I could take that somewhere in my life. And for those people, they should be the award winners to the role they played. From my origins to the work I choose to take part in today, I have learned from them that my heart is strong enough and capable of taking me to the places I want to go. I don’t think I have ever realized that before now. It all started from my origins.

My origins are in the North. They are in the first meeting of my mother and father and in the neighborhood I grew up in; the place I first started to form human relationships. Later I grew up in the city. My origins are also in the culturally diverse city of my early adulthood in which I finally started to understand the value of human relationships. I learned that if anything in life is important, then that is it.

With a strong heart and a desire to embrace the world around me I spent half a year thousands of miles away from where I originated. I’ve sat upon the setting sun in some of the most beautiful places in the world and learned to embrace my small but significant role in the world. I have heard 100 children crying out of laughter and saw something wonderful within a community who is as beautiful as they are unorthodox. I found myself in the beauty salon where I sat for hours getting my hair plated by Ugandan women. And after talking to a friend at a coffee shop in town one beautiful day, I realized that all these things I have witnessed and experienced here are the very things that make up the person I have become. Just like digging in the garden here strengthens every muscle in my body, the people and the simplicity of life have strengthened my heart. And at times my heart seems too strong to carry on. My origins are in the North, and my origins are also in Africa.

Gulu has been that place in the world for me that has allowed me to share who I am and express myself to others in a completely unique way. And in doing so I have strengthened the relationships I have with the people in my life. I have come to understand that most people aren’t accustomed to expressing their true intentions. We tend to hide our feelings from others to avoid violating social conventions which becomes a problem when there is discordance between desires and words. Such discordance can give rise to double standards both in individuals as well as in nations. My travels have taught me that expressing my true intentions to others tends to be somewhat problematic, but that there are consequences to keeping quiet. Gulu has opened up my heart, my mind and my whole self to the world around me more so than I could have ever imagined. My travels have taught me about learning from those around me more than anything else because the moment we stop learning from one another is the moment we begin to move backwards.

I have learned to survive here; and in order to do so, I have had to simplify. Simply my interactions with other people by learning the language. Simplify how I meet my basic needs by not fully relying on electricity and running water. I have had to simplify my to do lists to a fraction of what I would normally get done in a day and embrace the Ugandan system of time. In doing all of these things I have noticed that the things that used to test my stress level to the core are now the things that bring my so much joy that I can’t bear to leave this country in the next week. My home and my origins have prepared me to live the life I have wanted to live and I have found another home. By learning to live simply, my life here has improved greatly. And in response to that it is clear I am never chained by my lifestyle or where I came from but that I am capable of choosing and creating my own. Or perhaps it chooses me when I am willing to open up my entire self to the people around me. Sometimes you have to let your hair down because the world can be your home; it is your home after all, is it not?

Paradise = An ancient memory in the heart of humanity

The land was so vast and every inch of it incredibly breath-taking that my heart couldn’t take it all in. I sit here atop a waterfall and my mind churns. I am here at Sipi Falls in one of the most beautiful countries in the world; beautiful in both culture and landscape. And even though I have found myself staring off from a cliff in a place I would normally consider quite exotic and foreign, I hear simply the sound of a cow moaning from a woman’s hut deep in the valley where the falls run into, and I hear goats screaming as they play. It is clear this place is not only a sanctuary for visitors to come and relax; it is a home to the people of Eastern Uganda who thrive and survive off of its rich valleys. After coming to this place, I know exactly what I want to express but the pathway between my heart and my brain might as well be stuffed with cotton. To describe reactions and feelings seems to almost be reducing my experiences and myself to a concept. Most of my reactions and feelings on this trip come to me one after another, hitting me like a ton of bricks, uprooting me by muddy waters, and cannot be observed by reflection. However, for the sake of writing:

I am relaxed and comfortable in Nathan’s jacket around the fire with him, Elena, Katie and Patrick. Go figure I would forget to pack warm for the mountains. Patrick is talking about sphincters and tapeworms (don’t worry, no one has any), while Nathan explains them to him. I am brushing away the mosquitoes that have been tormenting me all night, flitting from ankle to ankle. It’s colder in the mountains but I can still feel them everywhere. I stop caring, exhausted from the day, my calves aching from climbing uphill and my quads equally tinged with soreness from going downhill. The day started with a hot shower in a bamboo covered bungalow and a Spanish omelet accompanied by a glass of passion fruit juice. After breakfast Nathan twiddled with the functions on his camera by taking pictures of absolutely everything while our tour guide set up the abseiling equipment. Thirty minutes later I was repelling down Sipi Falls 100 meters from the ground. When I hit 30 meters there wasn’t a single foot hold and I continued repelling while dangling and spinning 360 degrees. Nathan’s mini camera, strategically strapped to my waist and gear, surveyed the vast land like a great span over eternity. After descending onto the rocks below, our group made our way up and down hills, ladders, cliffs, into caves, then through homes and along rows of cornstalks. We passed cows and goats and traveled around the magnificent waterholes and waterfalls that make up this region. If I thought perfection was possible, this would be it. This day made me so happy. And even though leaving Sipi Falls was hard; even though I don’t see myself coming back here for awhile, I realize that you must protect your little pockets of happiness. Even now this thought cheers me as I struggle to hold onto it.

All Fun and Games

Since I tend to be a dualist by fault, my interests have been directed to other parts of the world outside of the one I am currently living in. With internet up and running in our apartment/office I have been able to keep up with the types of stories and headlines that are gaining major focus these days. I have noticed, though this is nothing new, that while America is very focused on issues such as Islamic extremism and terrorist groups in the Middle East, democracy has been under siege from religious extremism in other critical parts of the world, including India and Southeast Asia. As I look at the issues surrounding various regions and groups of people, I find myself asking, “why overall a clash? Many wise scholars would say it is simply the clash within every modern society between those who are prepared to live with and respect people who differ and those who seek the comfort of a single “pure” ethno-religious ideology. Either way, it has always bred interesting conversation with others and continues to make me think about this concept of different civilizations, cultural identity in its truest form, and it’s usefulness in examining the potential for inconsistency or conflict.

Perhaps there is a way to look past the different civilizations and cultures and unite everyone under a common purpose, goal and event. After all, an event such as the Olympics…specifically the Beijing Olympics this past year…is a way to bring everyone under one banner. As you look at the athletes competing, faces read agony, triumph, ecstasy, and amazement, rotating with every exchange, and every attempt, as competitors jostle for victory. What I am saying is sport is one of those things to experience in community. That is why we build giant stadiums and have elaborate parties dedicated to specific football games. It is a chance to escape and come together under a banner. It is completely human and completely glorious. The Olympics serves this very purpose. It shows the world that competition and sports are universal and the passion behind them can bring anyone and everyone together for a common purpose. The same can be said for sports in lesser-developed countries. Sports truly break down the barriers to peace and can change dramatically the opinions and initial feelings towards another person. In the West we seem to view these lesser-developed countries in a certain way. We see the differences in all aspects of life. What we fail to look at, and what we should always be concerned with, are the commonalities. If we keep looking at these things that are different among us, we will never be able to relate, build relationships, and help each other. Sports make it easier for us to relate to one another because it is a common medium. Sports enable young children to dehumanize the enemy. It gives each side a new perspective and understanding that can result in conflict resolution and sustainable peace, to an extent.

I attended a soccer match the other day at Christ the King school just down the road from Lacor Center where I am living. Stephen and Jolly are the head coaches and have brought together a group of guys to form a team last year when I was here. I have been working with them a bit on a soccer program that proves to be slightly more difficult and time consuming than I had previously thought. However, I have found the importance and fulfillment in trying. And in trying I have questioned, what is one way to address the clash between the communities here in Uganda, between the North and the South and between cultures all over the world? How do we prepare younger generations to live with and respect people who differ? Perhaps, and I would hope, that is the point and the greater meaning behind what I am trying to do and to help them do. I have seen how sports can bring joy and laughter to the lives of many, and laugher as a healing component can improve learning and reduce tension. It is an explicit factor in sports and helps to provide a vehicle for deflating all too easy pretensions and their resulting arrogance and violent thoughts, on either side of an issue. Sports challenge gender roles and myths and allow the youth to cross social and cultural barriers to bring about peace, development and even holistic fitness. So, it has become clearer now that I need to understand what provokes action, negative and positive, and what sparks attention. Sports do ignite a sense of passion and devotion, not to mention competitive enthusiasm and interest. Competitive sports have been an important aspect of our culture for centuries. They tend to allow breathing room for creating new grounds for peace, and I guess that is all I can ask for in a successful program…one I hope to help create.

I am something that grows, that laughs and cries

Two days in a row I have sat next to older women and thanked them for their strength that they didn’t see within themselves. It was humbling to say the least and has frayed the edges of my personal security blanket to a state of vulnerability I have yet to share with anyone except perhaps these women I may never see again. These women who sit in front of me with the only outfit they own, worn from hard labor in the garden and stained with the pee from a young child they have taken responsibility for. They share the smallest portion of a story that consumes all of their being, and without shedding a tear they appear broken down and helpless in that single moment.

A woman of 49, though her appearances would suggest otherwise. Her face reads exhaustion, pain and suffering but her eyes light up when she smiles at me. I talk to her about her home, about the things she owns and does not own. I ask her questions about her children and those whom she has taken in as orphans. She responds willingly but eventually I feel her struggling to answer as she moves her hand towards her face to cover up what she feels is a weakness in her. She understands she does not have much and is being reminded of that simple fact. I stop asking questions, a pang of guilt overcoming me, and simply assure her of her strength as a woman of Uganda and how in awe I am of her for what she has sacrificed and what she strives to accomplish in a community where widowed women are constantly downcast.

And then a woman, a grandmother, caring for her grandchildren alone. She recounts willingly the hardships of the war. She retells an abduction and her voice trembles faintly. With her cane lying by her side and children pushing and bustling around her on a mat under the mango tree she asks for help. She looks at me, knowing I understand very little of the Acholi she is handing out, and explains her state of dependency and her need for help in the education of her children. I sit in a chair, dozens of kids staring and smiling at my saddened face while I tell the woman I am not in a place to help her but that I am simply here, in this very place, under a mango tree, wanting to know her. I poured out other words that to me sounded supportive and heart warming but I received not even a faint smile when I was finished, only a subtle nod of her head in recognition and understanding.

I take a close look at the hardships of the women around me and almost envy them for being able to struggle, to fight, to endure the pain and then to come out stronger than they had ever been before. It amazes me and hurts my soul to know that these women, who have suffered and have lost so much are still able to open their hearts and to find strength in the core of their being, while I, who have lost nothing, cannot. Perhaps the most important thing about all of this is not what I can do to comfort these women. Perhaps the most important thing here is the fact that, as my elders, they are able to open themselves and their lives to me so that I may learn to find my inner strength as I live my life.

A note about work and the organization:

The Dwan Madiki Partnership has found a comfortable place for once. In a place where a war has ravaged the fragile components of community, many are used to being handed things. I sometimes struggle to remind them all that I am simply here to share my stories, to hear their stories, to be a voice for them back home, and to know them the best way I can. It must be the job of the community to assess the most fundamental and dire needs, to address them, and then to fix them. With the help of the community surrounding the Dwan Madiki Partnership, I am confident they can learn to help themselves and facilitate projects, programs and income generating activities that will sustain their lives and the lives of their children for generations to come.