Candle Lit Huts

On February 6, after delaying her ticket twice, Autumn finally left Acholi-land to return to the states. We miss her so much!!! My ever-present companion of the past five months is gone. Our Acholi friends, Abby and I miss her a lot. One of our friends says that when he thinks of her, he worries he is getting “heart disease” because of his pain over her absence. I often feel similarly.On February 14, Abby’s mom arrived for a weeklong visit; it was so fun to get to show Gulu to her! Then, on February 23, Liza and Nathan, two of my good friends from Seattle came to visit. Liza and Nathan helped me to feel again some of what I have become numb to over recent months. I re-encountered things and places that came alive to me again. Seeing the mutual affinity between our Acholi friends and Liza and Nathan made me love our friends even more. I am so grateful for Liza and Nathan being here with us. Just knowing that two of my friends from home know the texture of life here, have experienced the laughter of my friends, know the taste, the feel, the smells…is helping to prepare me to return home. It was so relieving to have Liza and Nate here encouraging us to collapse and to let them be strong for us.Having Nathan here with us, a man who is so tender, loving and strong, made the injustices (which are largely enacted by men) that much more glaring and confusing. I am torn by the coexistent beauty and injustice in this culture. There are people I care about deeply here; there is Okumu Robert who, in his own way, does his best to subvert male power. I have seen him offer his wife a seat in the presence of men, even though the culture requires her to “sit properly” on the floor. There is Ochira Andrew who, though he has two wives and supports domestic violence as a means by which to “love African women”, has ears to hear my thoughts and beliefs counter to his. One day he even asked Autumn and I for advice on how he can be a better husband. There is Auntie Doreen, who turned to me after we spent four hours preparing a meal together in a hot hut and said, “See, women are the givers and sustainers of life. One way we do this is by preparing food.”I see the beauty and some of the glory of womanhood. I also see the ways in which the beauty is marred, the ways power is used to subdue and destroy.In February, I was with my friend Mary as she was in labor for hours. Throughout the day, about twenty different women labored in and out of the dank ward. I saw the blood, I heard the screams, I felt the strong clutch of her hand on my waist, I sensed the intent determination, the smell of the most raw human experience one can possibly imagine. Minutes after being pushed out, Abby and I stood over baby Rubangkene Joshua, marveling that this day was the first of many he will hopefully and tenuously live. We wondered at what his life would hold, we prayed for the protection of his heart, knowing that this world he is entering is an unkind one. That very night, I sat with his father, his father’s best friend and uncle. The men berated the father for taking a second wife, the new baby’s mother. He asked forgiveness for this “mistake” he had made and he vowed that he would not take a third wife. I hear the concerns of the other men; I even agree with them. However, I asked him to care for Mary, to care for the new baby and to remember that today is a sacred day; the day Mary fought for her entrance into motherhood, the day Rubangkene Joshua became the firstborn child of a second wife.March 8 here in Uganda is “women’s day.” We were told by various men that it’s a day that men are supposed to be doing all the domestic work; hauling water, sweeping, cooking. That morning, we started the day eating pancakes that Nathan made Liza, Abby and I. I always feel honored by Nathan as a humble man who sees me, sees women, breakfast just felt like a continuation of his constant care for us. That day, as we visited various homes, though everyone talked about what an important day Women’s Day is, we noticed, somewhat cynically, that women were still doing all the work around the home. That afternoon, as Liza, Abby and I led girls’ group counseling, I listened to stories of male absence, violence inflicted by those in power. I am stunned and angered by the ways in which power, darkness and violence work to undermine the beauty of marriage and give men cause for abdicating their positions as protectors of women and children.That very night, I was walking with David, one of the kids I’ve been counseling for months. We have a water shortage here in Gulu and we went out together to find drinking water. We saw a lot of men out drinking alcohol, loitering around the local drinking joints, chugging bottled beer, sucking up straw-fulls of local brew. These men were “celebrating women’s day” as just another day to justify wasting money on alcohol and drinking away their children’s school fees. As we were returning to HEALS in the dark a screaming woman ran past us, followed by two men who were yelling and running after her. I asked David what was happening. “Those men want to cane that woman.” He told me that they were drunk. I yelled, “pe yela!” (don’t disturb her!) at the men. David told me to not say anything because she might think that we were going to defend her and she’d stop running and then the men would catch her. He said, “she needs to run away.” Even though there were many people around us, no one was doing anything to stop it.Even though I have a lot of privilege here as a white woman (I often feel elevated to the status of a Ugandan man) I was afraid of physical consequences if I were to intervene. I felt like I might vomit, as we turned toward HEALS and I heard the screaming continue. David told me that the woman had escaped from her pursuers. I asked him about when, in the future, he may choose to intervene in a situation. He said, “I will always intervene with children or old people.” He failed to mention the other vulnerable population: women. There is a distrust of women here and a disregard of the protection needed. I held myself together until we reached HEALS and then I found Atito and collapsed crying on her shoulder. I cried over my helplessness, over the voiceless status of Ugandan women and children. Atito’s response as she comforted me was, “I know. That’s why I hate Ugandan men and why it’s so hard for me to stay here.”In January, I witnessed a man I know, beating an innocent child; his obvious enjoyment of the power and the infliction of pain is etched in my memory. Autumn and I intervened in the act but we were told by those in authority that “this is Africa” and that we were wrong to intervene. The man actually threatened violence on us in return. The prevalence and systemic nature of violence here is staggering and wears on me in a way that nothing else does. It’s mere existence (and condoning of it by those in power) accentuates the lack of voice that women and children have. It’s hard, especially as a woman, to know how to speak against these injustices, how to respond when people tell me, “this is Africa, this is the way we do things here.” Even with the power I do have and my ability to speak, there is constant pressure to be silent, to do as the kids tell me they do when faced with injustice; “I just keep quiet.”Here is my jab at injustice, my chance to give a face to the beauty, strength, vitality and grace of Acholi women. These are the faces that have been beauty to me, that have been femininity and glory to me over the past six months:Atito Anna, my closest Acholi friend. A woman whose strength, joy, grace and wisdom astounds me. She has not shied away from engaging her own pain and continues to hope, even when it feels impossible.Lamuno Alberta, Autumn’s workmate at Gulu Regional Hospital, a woman who still sheds tears, though closeted, when a baby unjustly dies.Auntie Doreen, my Acholi Aunt, a woman whose foresight and strength helped her lead her family from their beloved land, shrewdly save money, buy land in town and save her family from the war.I’m beginning to consider the fact that I’m leaving Acholi-land, leaving this continent in six weeks. I can barely handle the thought that misplaced power will prevail and continue to wreak havoc on beauty and weakness. I need the strength it will take to leave and to trust that the the battle for peace, redemption and restoration is being fought by One who is greater than I. That’s the thread of hope I’m holding to now.Haley