My heart hurts something fierce.

You know, I put off that last blog post for months and months, because a) I go to Work Forest, "where your best hasn't been good enough since 1834!" and b) because it really wasn't that important.

But this is important.


Back in November I wrote about my anger and bitterness and disillusionment with Ugandan politics. I wrote about my trepidation over the impending election--which went down in February with, no surprise, President Museveni winning. I wrote about how shadowy, back-room corruption results in very real spilled blood. And do you know how badly I wanted to be proven wrong? To go back and read that and think, "Oh man, I was jumping to conclusions there! I was just over-emotional...thinking the worst...predicting a storm when there was just a rumor of a cloud!" I hoped beyond hope that I would be mistaken.

But then I saw this, and my heart sank. Museveni won, as expected. People weren't happy, as expected. Protests started, as expected. And people died. As expected.

In November, I watched Sometimes In April with my sister Hedwig and cried and cried, looking into the actors' faces and just imagining my Rwandan friends' eyes filled with the same fear, 17 years ago. But now, I can't even really cry, because any sorrow I feel is swallowed up in this intense, shaky feeling of  "Oh no" that's rattling in my chest. I'm not watching a movie with Hedwig. I'm watching Hedwig.

This video is smack-dab in Gulu-town. That's Norbert Mao, one of the former presidential candidates and the district chairman of Gulu, being arrested seriously a street away from where I lived at my Momma's shop. Sometimes in April looked familiar, but I rested in the fact that its plot-line is over and done; there are no roadblocks and machetes in present-day Kigali. But the Gulu in the video is the same Gulu where I left bits of my heart last semester. Within a block of where Norbert Mao was arrested, is where my boda-driver friend, Kenneth, parks his bike...where my breakdancing boy, Bernard, watches the sun rise sitting on his roof...where my Momma sits outside all day and drinks tea... Those gunshots were heard by my neighbors--by Tata Arnold and Baby Eva, by Paul Agape and Winney.

I can't tell you how this breaks my heart.

I want so desperately to drop what I'm doing (studying for finals?) and run to Gulu. Of course, I wouldn't be of any use there: I can't stop that violence and unrest with my 5'0, white-girl presence.

But I really want to hold my Momma's hand. I want to give Kenneth the hug I never gave him. I want to watch over my little sister Mercy when she's walking to the market. And I want to squeeze Hedwig hard when she tells me (since I know she would) that God's working everything--even this--together for good.

But what can I do? Really, all I can do is pray. I know that God is infinitely more upset than I am about the injustice in Uganda. He is infinitely more grieved over the people who were killed, and the families that cried, and the hearts that are swimming in fear. More than that--He is infinitely powerful. He can fix this. He can change this. He can heal this. I'm really sad, and really scared--but I trust Him.

It comforts me to think about Good Friday--and how the disciples must have felt when Jesus was crucified. Like, they watched all their Hope literally die; they buried all the Good that was in the world. They saw evil win and darkness cover their land. That night, their lives must have imploded. I can only imagine the rattling in their chests.

Yet. God knew what He was doing. He knew that after the night, the morning would come. He knew that on the other side of death and pain and tears and agony and wickedness, there was life. So I find comfort in the fact that I am only a short-sighted disciple waiting through a dark night.

God is good, and He listens to prayers for peace. I believe it.
Pray with me?





"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal...And let us run the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart."

This is what Africa sounded like.

[Note: I think I started writing this in February. And edited it in March. And failed at posting it until April. Where has my life gone??]

So, I cannot wrap my head around the fact that I've been back in the States for two months.*** I still plan on blogging here a bit, especially since I've had time to process through some things...but do I have time to blog now? No! My dear academic institution, Wake Forest University, is a great stealer of time and energy, and I have yet to adjust to its rhythm... I miss African time.

BUT, here's something quick---were you wondering what my semester sounded like?
You were? Well then, today is your lucky day!

Here is my Africa Playlist...songs that were played on the radio, sung in church, frequented on my ipod or circulated within our SIT group in Rwanda/Uganda:

Waka Waka--my official Packing-For-Africa song

Waving Flag (Spanish Version)--i.e. the first Youtube video that I attempted loading on less-than-awesome Internet, while nomming vegetable samosas in Kigali's Bourbon Cafe.

Dancing in the Minefields.....thanks to David from my SIT group, this became the 4th most played song in my iTunes last semester. I played it incessantly from the Shokola days onward, especially when things were hard, and yep, even put it in my ISP thesis title. Apparently my transcript even reads: "ISPR 3000--Independent Study Project: Dancing in the Minefields." HA.

Dutty Love? Whaaaat?-- An actual conversation:
"Morris, who sings this song?? I hear it everywhere, and Farida sings it all the time..."
"Uh, it's Sean Kingston. Don't you have him in America?"
"Oh. Duh. Yeah."
[Did my Rwandan homeboy-brother know more about popular American music than me? Yes, yes he did.]

Inkoramutima by Meddy!--here's some sweet auto-tuned deliciousness from the ever-popular Rwandan star, Meddy. This kid was everywhere; I actually think his songs taught me more Kinyarwanda in the long run than our teacher...Here's some more if you're as shamelessly addicted to Meddy as I am: slurp!

Morning Comes (Delta Rae)--sighhhhhhhhh. Beautiful Erin shared this with me during a bumpy van ride in Butare.  We were decompressing in the back of our matatu as the sun set, circling those never-ending, ever-gorgeous Thousand Hills, after a very intense, devastating, inspiring, redeeming weekend...and this song was perfect. Every time I hear it, I feel the deepest pain and the deepest joy all wrapped up in 4 minutes of awesome harmonies... Please join me in stalking Delta Rae too; they're amazing.

Come Back When You Can--Achsah, my SIT soulmate, gave me a ton of music, and this was one of my favorites. Reminded me of home.

I Am--speaking of awesome Acshah, I nabbed this song from her and it is my JAM. Apparently it was also Morris's, as there was much brother-sister bonding over this song. If Morris thinks I'm cool at all, it just might be because I put I Am on his birthday mix.

A Weather--Achsah also introduced me to A Weather, who will forever remind me of the time I thought I had malaria... I didn't have malaria, mind you, but there was this one day in Gulu when I looked like death, rocked a fever, slept for 23 hours and thought I might die. I listened to A Weather on repeat the one hour I was actually conscious that day...and I think they healed me.

Cindy!!!--when we were in Kampala, we went to this random promo-concert for a cell phone company...and who was there!??! This chick Cindy. She was fun.

And here's some hawt African club music.

Also, Party in the USA, which was frequently played alongside the hawt African club music. Ironic, no?

Halel--ooo-ooo-eee-ahhh.--Hedwig and I sang this together all the time...before bed, sitting outside of Coffee Hut, while my Mama watched dubbed-over soaps...all the time.

Trading My Sorrows--Sang this at Hedwig's church...and learned the accompanying dance! As for this video, if you got rid of the 80's outfits, 0:16-0:28 is essentially what Hedwig and I looked like (we sang to each other   oh so vigorously..)

The Lion King on Broadway--sometimes, I would wake up to Hedwig jamming in our room with my iPod, singing, "Hey-la, hey-ma-meh-la, hey-la...He lives in you!" And then there was that one glorious morning during ISP time when Achsah was attempting to write her paper in our gigantic, furniture-less living room...and Erin and I distracted her by interpretive-dancing the greater half of the Lion King Broadway Soundtrack, embodying every African animal we knew. It was The Best.

The Very Best--this makes me want to take a long van ride through the bush.

I Celebrate The Day--another favorite from Achsah...in preparation for Christmas.

Miracle--in preparation for Hanukkah (Allie lit cut-up candles for eight nights and made latkes!)

Oh Africa!--for celebratory dances at the Mzu...Also, the soccer players featured in the video were emblazoned on the sides of buildings in Gulu. Oh Africa!

Christian worship songs in Hindi?--Yup. Remember that time when I pulled 3-all-nighters in a row, drinking thermoses of coffee and eating sim-sim paste out of a tupperware container, writing my ISP? Well, near the end of that ridiculous experience, I was writing on my bed in the Kampala hotel, and I looked out the window at all my SIT pals lounging on their balconies, and I had the overwhelming urge to listen to some soft sitar, stare out my window at them and thank God that they were in my life, and that we were in Uganda. Hence this song.
 
I am grounded; I am humbled...--this song sounds silly, but listen to the words. It pretty much summed up my entire study abroad experience in one line: "My soul is just a whisper trapped inside a tornado." I am grounded, I am humbled by how big and complicated and beyond my brain the world is. If I learned anything last semester, it was that I know and understand very little. I think that's a good place to be.

AND without further ado, I think THIS is the most played song in Uganda. It would wake me up at 6:30 in the morning at the Mzu, wafting through my open bedroom window...and then I heard it 74893 times throughout the day...and then I would fall asleep dreaming of the day when Achsah and I would make a acoustic cover of it. Seriously. That cover is a-comin.

*** How about it's now been more than three months? Whaaaat? My astounding lack of free time has forced me to blog during work (ohhh the perks of working at the library!); here's to hoping I finish writing this in the next 2-6 months...


(more to come. more on my mind. praying hard for Uganda.)

"I am grounded; I am humbled..."

(p.s. this was writtem a day ago...)

“Why are you downcast, O my soul?

Why so disturbed within me?”

I think I was a little (a lot) downcast when I wrote that blurb of a blog post yesterday…mostly because trying to snag a dorm room to live in come January went horribly. I was lamenting about it to my friends here, who were being so sympathetic, but then one of them joked, “Oh man…your rooming…sounds like an IDP camp!”

Oh.

Snap.

I immediately stopped complaining, because egads, I have no right to whine at all! Yes, I’m currently living in the basement of a dorm no one wants to live in, with a random roommate, separated from all my friends, la la la…but really, how far away from my friends will I be? Five minutes max. And, I’ll have hot showers. And a snacks-shelf in my room. And a bookshelf, come to think of it. With books. And more clothes than I will ever need. And more pillows than I will ever need (did I mention my floor-mattress in the Mzu wasn’t accompanied by a pillow?). And heating and AC. And so so so so many more things that I so easily take for granted.

I feel really silly for being “downcast” about such a ridiculous thing as a dorm room when I’ve seen so many legitimately disturbing things this semester… When I get to that dorm room of mine, I’m going to plaster it with pictures and names and notes from this experience, to remind myself: You are blessed. You are privileged. You have no right to complain, and every reason to rejoice.

That’s the truth.

“Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him,

My Savior and my God.”

Not gonna lie, though, I’m a tad concerned about reverse culture-shock. We had a little debrief before we fled Kampala (well, we really fled Gulu…thank you, pneumonic plague), and we talked a lot about challenges we’re going to face when we get home. So, I’d like to take this moment to formally apologize to anyone who experiences Bitter Betty Mary back in the States. Bitter Betty Mary grumbles about materialism and NGOs and cultural insensitivity and ignorance and college kids who waste their money and educations…and probably comes off sounding very self-righteous and jaded in the process. I DO NOT want to be bitter about things in America, but so far I have seen a bit of that jadedness come out in conversations…and I sincerely apologize if that continues when I get home. Please be patient with me.

But you know what’s fantastic? I have hope that God is bigger than my bitterness. Seriously, if anyone had the right to be jaded and world-weary, it was Christ—but he met all of us ignorant, selfish people with absolute, undiluted love. I trust He’ll help me do the same (and that He’ll forgive Bitter Betty Mary when/if she strikes again). God is good.

Also, even though I’ll be back on American soil in 3-ish days, I’m sure I’ll still be blogging here. (Especially since I’ll actually be able to post pictures and videos!!!)

More things to expect from me when I get back:

Instead of nodding yes, I will be raising my eyebrows. I can’t stop it. It’s really sort of a problem.

I’m rather tan. Like, an ethnicity darker. Boda drivers in Gulu kept asking me if I was from Spain (score!). However, I’ve yet to discover if my “tan” is actually ingrained dirt, which is quite possible… I might be back to my normal Caucasian-ness after a vigorous shower. We’ll see.

After four months studying other things, I think I’ve forgotten how to speak Spanish and play piano. BOOOOOO Radley.

Friends and Fam—you will be receiving the biggest hugs ever in a very short while. These hugs will probably be paired with high pitched noises coming from somewhere within the very core of my happy soul…Consider yourselves forewarned.

Jmary

What?!

My life is a mess. A beautiful, but ridiculous mess.

Case in point: I'm in eastern Uganda right now (Mbale) trying desperately (and unsuccessfully) to register for housing next semester. I climbed a mountain today. And sat on top of a water fall. And I finished my research paper. It's 48 pages long. I'm supposed to be in Gulu, but I'm (obviously) not. Why? Unconfirmed ebola and confirmed pneumonic plague outbreak. Evacuation ensued. I was devastated.

Ayayayaii. I don't think I'm ready to return home in 3 days.

So much more to be said,
Mary

The Mzu*

At the moment, it’s 7:45 on a Sunday morning. I set my alarm for 6:00 so I could do some ISP work before church, but having successfully killed my alarm, that did not happen…and that setback in productivity has quickly spiraled into me writing a blog.

Have I mentioned that I love my house? I’m sitting on the back porch right now, and well, let me just show you:

Backyard!

I would love to do a little photo-essay of my house (and housemates) but alas, that might not come to fruition with the amount of research (and writing) that is looming on the horizon… But I’d love to show you the neighborhood kids who shimmy up our papaya trees to collect fruit, our Tweety Bird and Minnie Mouse mattresses that are arranged on the floor, the glorious amount of stars you can see at night, the huts across the way, the yellow flowers that dot our fences, and the meals we concoct (sans the stove, which broke!). Last night’s dinner was an assortment of vegetable samosas, pineapple and tomatoes. Other personal favorites of mine are bread and honey for breakfast, beans & rice take-away, and green apples—anytime.

Speaking of meals. Thanksgiving. Was. AWESOME. I have really gifted housemates who got inspired and whipped up the most amazing feast for all of us…on a charcoal stove no less! Our dear Ugandan friend, Paul, slaughtered two chickens for us (GIT IT), Jason made stuffing (BRAVO) and a group of chicas talentosas made vegetable soup, spaghetti, mashed potatoes, cow peas, garlic bread, fruit salad, salad salad, and meringue (BELLISIMO!). We all sat at a long table like one big fam, and sigh, it was lovely. And after that dinner, we won quiz night at a local bar! AMERICA FOR THE WIN. (juuuuuuust kidding.)

In other news: I love research. Well, maybe not so much research, but I love my research topic. I think I could spend a whole year—at least—digging my teeth into it, so I definitely know that my findings are going to be rather premature. I suppose what I love about researching dance (and dance therapy) though is that I’ve met some extraordinary people, and really fantastic kids because of it. Even people not directly associated with my research at all (like my beans & rice guy, Ibra, or my favorite boda-driver, Kenneth) I only met because my research caused my life to intersect with theirs. Bahhhh, it’s going to be hard to leave them all.

Sometimes, I wish I could live in the Mzu long-term, especially because I know it’s going to be really hard to go back to Wake. My work schedule here means making lots of little adventurous journeys to obscure huts to find contacts, building relationships with interviewees, and dancing. I’m sort of nervous about how I’ll do when work means memorizing facts and taking tests… Boo.

Ok, this is a strange turn of mood. I fully intended to just show you my backyard, because it’s beautiful, not get all mopey about leaving Uganda. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really excited to get back home soon. I just wish I could stuff a lot of things (and a lot of people) in my suitcase to bring back with me J

Fun facts to make this blog post worth your time:

I ate a grasshopper the other day.

I helped build a fire pit in our backyard to make ramen noodles. It was hard work. Irony, much?

Currently, my housemate is cutting the grass. With a machete.

And…uh…I was in a Ugandan music video. It was ridiculous. The link can be found on the lovely Chase Taylor’s blog: http://chasinguganda.blogspot.com/2010/11/welcome-to-uganda-shortest-post-yet.html

You’re welcome.

Much love,

Mary

*We have dubbed our house the Mzu—a play on the words Mzungu and Zoo—because lots of neighborhood chillens stand at our front gate and stare at us like we are particularly interesting animals. Hence the house being the Muh-Zoo. It is a wonderful place :D

A Brief Aside

I don't know if I mentioned this before...but I'm currently doing an independent research project. Formal lectures ended for me back in Kampala, and now, I'm exploring (wait for it)

"The Impact of Traditional Acholi Dance and Contemporary Breakdance on the Lives of War-Affected Youth in Northern Uganda""

Mouthful of a title, but it basically boils down to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPn6aM2slPw&feature=related

plus this:
http://vimeo.com/11938213

and a little bit of this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wUAxDAJa-ro

And what does me researching look like?

Like this.

Experiential learning, baby! Participant observation, what whaaaaaat!!!

:) mary

So, I'll walk with you in the shadowlands, till the shadows disappear.

 November. November?!

How in the world is it here already?! I couldn’t be more surprised about this Speedy-Gonzales-passage-of-time. I’m going to blame my ignorance of all-things-November on the fact that the weather hasn’t changed at all during my time here. It’s been a perpetual summer, and every day brings the same glorious thing: I wake up to sunshine and go to sleep with the rain. Sometimes, during dinner, we have remarkably monsoon-ish storms with wild spurts of pink lightning…which are fully capable of ripping tin roofs off of houses! My homestay house stayed intact, however. I’m pretty sure I heard a cat being flown off our roof once, though…Crazy.

Speaking of my homestay, my last day with them was on Tuesday…and I’m so sad to leave them. True, trying to do research whilst living with them would be near impossible, but if I was just living life in Gulu (rather than trying to live life in a studious manner), I would want to stay with them for much longer. But, my average day with the fam left no room to do schoolwork. Instead, I would arrive home from school around dinnertime, sit around the neighbors’ fires while everyone cooked (they gave up on teaching me to cook, although I did learn how to make a decent cup of African tea). Then, I’d eat with the fam until I thought I would puke (they got real hardcore near the end about making me fat), watch more dubbed over soaps, take my second bucket bath of the day, have some heart-to-heart time with Hedwig and then—as Hedwig says—sleep like a baby. [I actually moved out of my Mom’s house and into a room with Hedwig, which I loved. Every morning with her went the same way: I would be still sleeping like a baby, and before my alarm went off at 7, I would hear Hedwig’s voice break through my unconsciousness saying, “Marrrrrrria!? Good morrrrrning!”

“mumble mumble, good morning Hedwig! mumble mumble”

“Marrrrrrria? How are youuuuu?”

“So! Good!”

And the day would begin!]

 Highlights of the homestay that I really should expand on but lack the time/mental capacity to do so now include: the time I almost got married (apparently they were negotiating my dowry in the living room); the time I spazzed out like no other and dropped my cell-phone-as-flashlight in the latrine (OOPS); the time I went to church with our neighbor, Tata Arnold (Baby Eva’s dad); the time I taught the neighborhood how to pirouette; the homestay farewell party, etc. etc. And I will surely have more Gulu-Family stories; I’m moving into a house with 11 other SIT kids when I get back, (woo!!!) but seeing as my host-family lives two doors down from Coffee Hut, I’ll most likely see them every other day or so. For now, though, I’m in

KAMPALA!

Can I just say—getting here was a struggle. We started our 6 hour expedition from Gulu to Kampala in our two faithful matatus (i.e. four-row vans), Lucy and Gus. Lucy’s usually the Debbie-Downer of our trips. On our trip back from Baker’s Fort (Wikipedia it!), Lucy got stuck in the mud and we had to recruit a whole village (really, a whole village) to push us free… Then, Lucy just plain broke down and we almost had to pull her to the next town with the villagers’ rope. She’s such a drama queen of a vehicle. But, on the way to Kampala, Lucy was golden. Huzzah! However, GUS died a horrible, horrible car-death. Meaning, instead of taking the drive in two buses as planned, we had to strap our luggage to Lucy’s roof and cram 18 people into Lucy’s four rows. Please, take a moment to visualize this.... Can’t quite picture it? Well, at one point I was sitting/lying in a question mark shape (feet touching the roof of the matatu and legs in the air) because leg-room failed to exist, while Achsah, on my right, tried to alleviate the situation by sticking her feet out the window… And while trying to manage how to position elbows and knees with Achsah and David (on my left), I thought, “This must be what if feels like to be triplet…in the womb.” Or as Dani, sitting in front of me, said, it was “experiential learning: what it feels like to be an illegal immigrant.” But we made it to Kampala, and I’ve regained feeling in my legs. All is well J

The city seems so different from when I first arrived here—much more manageable and much more delightful. Also, since my first post, I’ve had seven marriage proposals so far (all in one especially auspicious day), I’ve probably heard muzungu about 2780932 times, and the traffic here is no longer intimidating. Also, last night I went clubbing with the SIT group and the Nicest Ugandan Man I’ve Ever Met. So fun. I was long overdue for some dancing, and the eclectic mix of music at the club (which ranged from Ke$ha to Blink-182 to the Killers [yes, we interpretive danced to “Human”]) was just the right amount of absurd to be enjoyable. Oh Kampala, I really do like you.

Kampala seems even livelier than usual at the moment, thanks to the up-coming elections. I think local elections are happening now, and the Big-Kahuna Presidential Election is happening in February, when the current President (Museveni) will go up against seven opposition candidates. In preparation for February, the streets are filled with cars plastered with political posters, all beeping their horns and making good use of their vuvuzuelas… They are also big trucks loaded down with people—all with stereos strapped to them—that serve the same purpose, and to me, they look like giant dance parties on wheels. On the one hand, I absolutely love this party-for-politics atmosphere, because everyone seems so enthusiastic and hopeful about the political process.

On the other hand, I have become completely, utterly, hopelessly disillusioned with politics since I arrived in Uganda. Seriously, I have no faith in the political system here, and I doubt many Ugandans do either. That’s the tragic thing about it: crowds of people are dancing on top of politically-themed buses, but then people are also shaking their heads, telling us that the election will surely be rigged…it is no secret that the current government has a strangle-hold on the power here, even if they do so under the guise of democracy. Seriously, Museveni will only step down if and when he wants to, and from the look of things in Kampala—where every spare surface is yellow-wall-papered with Museveni’s sunny campaign posters—he’s not planning on stepping down anytime soon…if anytime at all. Add to that the fact that people seem to be joining Museveni’s party just for the financial benefits and sketchy governmental handouts, and that northern Uganda (where I live) is still crippled by an ongoing civil war, one that Museveni’s government has consistently failed to end for a good twenty-four years, and Uganda appears to be in a very troubling place indeed.

The implications of all this are staggering to me. What happens when someone comes to power, loses favor, and refuses to relinquish their once-elected position via questionable means? Scary things: coups; corrupt back-room deals; blood-on-hands. Uganda’s never had a peaceful exchange of power, and the most terrifying thoughts in my head are about what will happen in 2011, and then, in the election after that. If Museveni doesn’t step down in a (miraculously) free and fair election, then that means he will either puppet-master one of his pals into his old position (i.e. corruption wins again) or there will be a coup. There will be fighting. There will be people dying. And I hate that. If Museveni—or any other political force—takes/keeps power through violence (whether that manifests itself through explicit fighting or covert intimidation) I will interpret that move as thus: the people in power care more about said power, and therefore themselves, than they care about an entire country. They’d rather silence the opposition than give up hearing their voice parroted back to them by their people; they’d rather have “relative peace” and their own security than a real, lasting stability in their country. In that case, greed, fear and individual selfishness would win out over truth, justice and the common good. And while that sentence sounds very vague and theoretical, I know it means very serious, tangible things here—radio stations and newspapers being shut down, censorship causing people to lose their jobs, disgruntled constituents rioting, the government retaliating, and inevitably, people getting killed.

I’m not okay with that.

And the saddest thing is, Uganda’s not unique in this regard. Even Rwanda, which at first seemed like the Holy Land to me when contrasted with the blatant corruption in Uganda, is still rife with eyebrow-raising issues of governmental shadiness, and if I dwell on it for too long, I become amazingly bitter. I suppose I’m not just disappointed in the political systems here, though. It goes deeper than that. I think I’m disappointed in humanity—how we (yes, we, not just the Idi Amin’s and the Museveni’s, but all of us) so easily choose our own safety and success over others’, even if that means doing horrible things in the process. Studying here has shined a spotlight on that awful human tendency for wrong, and it makes me want to shake the dust of this place off my shoes and make a hasty retreat.

But then, I remember—this place has gotten under my skin, and really, how can I wash my hands of it? For example, the other night Hedwig and I were watching Sometimes in April (a movie about the ’94 genocide in Rwanda which I definitely recommend), and I was slammed by just how much more personal the movie was to me now. The movie is set in Kigali, where I stayed, and everything looked so achingly familiar…And I kept picturing the faces of my Rwandan family and friends intermingled with all the actors’ faces, and I just started bawling. I was a hot mess. And I realized, I think I’ve been changed by being here more than I’ve even begun to comprehend. I think, when you’re planted in a place for a period of time, and come to know (and love) the people you find there, their problems become your problems in some way, and in a way that hurts much deeper than it would have if you had never established roots in their soil. Does that make sense? I’m not sure if I can really even articulate this, but all I know, is that there is no way I can survey the political scene in Uganda/Rwanda in a removed, “Oh, that’s really a shame; I hope they get a fair election” kind of way. I will be down on my knees crying for some kind of miracle, because I know their names, and I recognize these faces:

Baby Eva and Little Arnold

Nancy (rain-friend)

My sister Vanessa and my Mama

Hedwig!

My brother Morris

My pal Victor

"Let's make silly faces!"

 They make every cold shower, bug bite, cockroach battle, homesick moment, and inner tantrum over politics/human nature infinitely worth it. 

And I don't think I could forget about them even if I wanted to.

Mary

(p.s. This post was written throughout several days as I procrastinated yet another ten pager. Now, I'm back in Gulu, having just moved into my new HOUSE! I'm in love. Stay tuned for me waxing poetic about its spacious rooms and papaya trees.)