Weekend in Gulu

For the weekend, Shawn and I took the ‘omeland Bus (the people don’t say the letter “H” here and as I eliminate it from my vernacular, they seem to understand me better as well) to Gulu – $5 to travel is the best we’ve seen here, and since Sr. Judith was taking it to visit the sisters, we didn’t hesitate to jump on with her. After three hours we arrived in Gulu, the closest city and ran some errands for the Sunflower Press: we couldn’t believe how easy it is to get things here! A mop, a squeegee, coolant for the radiator, Microsoft Office for the computer… it’s just another reminder as to how separate the people in Padibe are from a life similar to ours. We then arrived at Lacor Seminary School where we would stay for the weekend. It was truly a joy to arrive back here again. The priests are pleasant, intelligent, humorous, humble-they have cold beer, clean beds and showers for us every time we come knocking at their door. So we found ourselves in the same comfortable red cushioned chairs that we sat on upon our arrival to the Lamor District only two years ago with Monsignor Odong, the headmaster and prominent leader here in the Archdiocese. He has been to the Midwest many times and has strong connections to the people in Minnesota who have helped him to build the highest performing secondary school in the district of Northern Uganda! He enjoys frozen custard very much and we enjoy some healthy banter about who knows how to do it best: Minnesota or Wisconsin. After his warm welcome, we went to see some of the retired sisters who make beautiful handmade cards out of banana leaves for us to sell at the church. They had planned a dinner for us.

So, Sister Josephine arrived to pick us up in her four-wheeler (quite a strong vehicle for such a delicate soul, but this is the only vehicle that works around here) and brought us to the new building for the retired sisters (they joke that they get “promoted” from the old building — Villa Teresa — when they lose their legs: and they full belly laugh at this joke, no feeling sorry for oneself here! One of the ten thousand reasons why I love these women). They welcomed us with songs and handshakes and clapping and then, the apex of our visit, they rolled in Sr. Paulina, the retired teacher who quickly stole a place in my heart last time with her big hugs, fully body laugh, and complete lack of concern to determine who is worthy of her love and who is not. Her entrance was difficult for us though, as this time she came on her own, without her partner in crime, Sr. Serena who has passed away since our last trip here. She told us the story of her passing, assuring us that it was peaceful and that she was still with us, and if I concentrated hard enough, I could feel her just beyond Paulina, only this time with the ultimate promotion: healthy legs, healthy being, freed from her pain. It wasn’t long until they showed us to the dining room where they had prepared a full on Ugandan meal for us, complete with malaquang (a peanut and greens dish which has quickly become my favorite — see prior blogs for the recipe!), cassava, chicken, goat and yes… another cake! We cut the cake and shared it while the sisters sang a beautiful wedding song about the vine and the branches (which just so happened to be the reading from our wedding). Every time I am with these women, my heart peels open: they have a light more bright than I have felt in my time on earth. They give to us not because they want anything in return but because it is their way, the only way they know how to treat people. I hope that everyone, at some time in his or her life, has the opportunity to experience this strength of spirit in human form.

Shawn and I first sat at the center of the room, but Paulina wouldn’t have it; so she beckoned us to come down to the end of the table where she could pull up her wheelchair. She grabbed my hand and story time began, my favorite part of our meetings. She told me that at the end of the month she would turn 84 and I asked her secret to her vivacious final stage of life. She thought a bit while she chewed and confidently said “Always be available.” Okay, I thought, I get it. This is one of those spiritual adages that I have used for many a yoga class in the past. But then she elaborated, telling me that she had four brothers and four sisters growing up and that all of her sisters died at a young age, so she was the only girl left. Of course, “boys don’t do work,” she said as if I knew this as confidently as she did, so whenever her mother needed her, she had to always be available. But she enjoyed it, being with her mom, helping with the work. And as she went on as a teacher, when the children wanted to laugh and dance and run and play, she just had to be available for them in their needs if she was to be good at her job. So, “always be available,” she repeated. Simple 🙂 But this got me thinking quite a bit regarding our work here in Padibe. Even though we have poured a great amount of time and effort into the Sunflower Press project, and fundraising, and what, it seems like the two years between the idea and the implementation have flown by and that things just seemed to come together almost as if someone else is doing it for us. This is one of the many times I’ve experienced this same sort of “magic.” The right people show up, the right supporters come out of the masses and suddenly, can it be? We have $90,000. Suddenly, the building is built. Suddenly, the sunflower press is operating. Suddenly, there are customers, profits, jobs. And because it was in alignment with the master of ceremonies Himself, nothing could have been more easily complex. So, as I prepare to leave Shawn behind so I can get to work on my own, I am going to let this be my mantra as I walk through the villages these next few weeks: how can I be available to my purpose here? How can I get out of the way so that the divine can flow through my ideas, my hands, my words, my speculations? The next morning we went to mass with Monsignor and his homily seemed to be yet another nudge from the divine: when you are a person of faith, you have to let go of your freedom. Your own plans and agendas are completely irrelevant when you are serious about being available. God needs your hands to be empty so that He can use you and I both, so in a sense we are not free: we are servants. However, I can attest to the fact that when I have opened them up, handed them over, remaining a conscious puppet for the gods, and succumbing to the flow of this energy, everything seems to be so much easier. Three years ago, I literally threw up my hands to watch as God led me to this church, to this mission, to my future husband and my future work. So while I am scared to death to let go of my freedom (trust me, there is a part of me that wants to say “what we’re doing is enough” because I know of the challenges that “more” will bring), I want to ride that sweet current of purpose that makes things happen for the world, in the most intelligent way possible.

Saturday morning we woke up bright and early looking forward to our full day with Charles, now a nurse practitioner, who Shawn sponsored through school. He’s been working for awhile and now has both a wife and a daughter, so we thought that it was about time we catch up with him. He wanted to pick us up on his motorbike (affectionately called boda-bodas here) but we arranged for a car instead (I’m still not too comfortable with those things, bumping up and down on the Swiss cheese dirt roads). We went straight to Charles’s hut and DANG is it nice – high off the ground to keep the rats out, internal walls that separate the entryway from the living room from the bedroom. It even had a full set of living room and bedroom furniture. We’ve been talking about building a hut here for ourselves and our visitors, and I urged Shawn to take notes on this one. I could handle living like this — even if it meant showering with a camp shower. We met Evelyn, the ONE we’ve been hearing about, and Sierra the baby (I love how the women call after her “baby, baby” even though she’s almost two :)). We also met his aunt who has taken care of his family since both of his parents died long ago. After taking breakfast (more heart-shaped cake – yum!), we decided to head into town to do some shopping. We wanted to walk the full way, like Ugandans, to get some exercise and by the time we arrived, I was over my fears and ready for a boda-boda! We purchased more necklaces and other local pieces of art to sell back in the US and returned back to the hut for lunch and supper. We took a few beers and sat in the hut, talking, for what would turn out to be about 6 hours: Charles’s experiences during the war, the medical needs of the community, the struggles of watching family members suffer from HIV, the challenges of being a parent, how we both fell in love, and on and on; I left feeling as though THESE are the moments. With Shawn leaving on Sunday, I feel like I have friends here, people I can call if I need something, or just to chat, a place I can go if I need out of Padibe. Se, after succumbing to the boda system, Charles took all three of us back on his, and we said goodbye. He kept reiterating how he had looked forward to this day for so long and he really just enjoyed being with us. I couldn’t have agreed more.

Saturday night, Shawn broke his little wooden bed frame (it’s not as sexy as it sounds — his knee went right through the wood — lol), so we crawled into my small twin bed and continued reading Wild — our mutual escape every night — a book about a girl who backpacks the Pacific Crest Trail for 100 days) and then snuggled in for our final night together. I was anticipating this night as one of great sadness and tears, fear even, but I didn’t feel any of that. The work that remains for me here keeps calling me so loudly that I can barely think of home yet. So off he went at 6 a.m. the next day, and I remained at the seminary. I didn’t hesitate to take the morning for myself — blogging as I enjoyed a cold beer and nuzzled into the comfy red chairs, occasionally petting the parish dogs, Isaac and Rose. The highlight of my day though was meeting our sponsored seminary student, Onen Can Simon Peter. Once the administrators and office staff at Pewaukee High School heard about our program, they decided that they wanted to get involved too. So instead of Christmas gifts, they pooled their money and that’s how the story of Simon Peter’s sponsorship began. When he first approached me, I could tell he was nervous, how so many of the older students get around me, but Shawn assured me that the more relaxed and goofy I am, the more the students will be too. So, as this day was parent visitation day but his had not come, I pretended to be his white auntie coming to visit from America. He liked it. 🙂 After getting acquainted, he began his story: how he was born into war-time, how his aunt had been beaten nearly to death with a hoe by the rebels and was now a vegetable, how his parents had to take care of her four children on top of their six, how his mom had joined the government army during the war (I know – amazing!) to encourage the boys of the community to do so (if a 40 year-old woman could do it, they could too), how both of his parents weren’t educated beyond middle school, how he would be the first to complete school, how his ever-loving and joyful war-time priest (our wedding celebrant, Godffery Torac) inspired him to become a priest. He explained that just this year his parents had to pull him from school because they couldn’t afford his education, and he reluctantly returned home to dig in the fields with them. He was playing football (soccer) nearby with some friends when Tommy came to his home to share the news: some teachers from America want to help you get back to school. He was over-joyed, brimming with emotion. He very clearly, several times, assured me that he has been so humbled by the outreach from my friends that he wants to forever dedicate his life to giving back to the needy through his role as a priest. Wow. You can’t make this stuff up. He promised to have Tommy help him get an email address so that he could contact them (he kept begging me to show him a picture of Marty, Danielle and crew which unfortunately I don’t just keep on my iPad 😉 ) but he left me with a letter and some words for them in a video I can’t wait to share upon my arrival home. I seriously love being the glue – the relationship builder. Our work in Pewaukee now has a taken on a whole new meaning as I get to hear about the lives of these kids, their dreams, what we have done for and inspired within them through our gesture. I am the lucky one.