Debriefing

Prior to going to Uganda, I worked in the field of adventure education for four years, guiding groups of people through ropes courses, team-building activities, and the occasional backpacking or rock-climbing trip. In adventure education, arguably the most important part of an experience is the debrief--the time following the activity in which the group and the individuals that comprise it can reflect on and discuss what happened, identify the significance of what happened, and draw out the implications and applications of what happened. In other words, learn from their experience. When I'm in a particularly nerdy mood, I call debriefing "an exercise in hermeneutics" because it is the practice of interpreting an experience. That is why the debrief is so important.

Debriefing can also be difficult to facilitate. Very difficult. Sometimes, the challenge lies mainly in helping the group to draw connections from their experience. In these cases, the right question can be the difference between blank stares and an "aha moment." Sometimes, the challenge is in the experience and/or group itself: whatever the group experienced was too complicated or too unexpected or just too big to summarize in neat take-away points. 

According to some adventure educators, one should spend as long on the debrief as the group spent on the activity. Thus, a 20 minute activity deserves a 20 minute debrief. If this rule of thumb is accurate, then this post is probably prodigiously premature; I should be debriefing for about another nine months. Most likely, I will be. However, in the interests of answering some general questions and trying to bring this blog to a conclusion, I offer these thoughts a mere month since returning to the States. 

When I lead debriefs, I often open the conversation by asking each participant to come up with a word or phrase to summarize their experience. That gives us a place to start as opposed to asking "How was that?"--a question which some people, myself included, find impossibly vague. "How was Uganda?" Um...hot. Well, usually hot. I mean, where I was in Uganda was usually hot. That's probably not what you meant by that question, though. That is more or less how my brain usually reacts to the "how was" question. However, if you ask me what three words I would use to summarize my experience in Uganda, I'd say, "Eye-opening. Thought-provoking. And challenging." Hyphenated words totally count as one in debriefs. 

Eye-opening in what way? In the areas of politics, global and local economics, education, crime and rule of law, poverty, affluence, and different standards of living, aid and relief efforts, denominational missions and the global church, for starters. I am not going to expatiate on all of these, but allow me to flesh out a few examples. 

I think I understand better, now, when people talk about "lack of opportunity." This past year was the first time I lived where most of my neighbors had dramatically different standards of living, levels of education, and cultural norms than I. And it comes back, at least in part though not entirely, to opportunity. Think about recreation for a moment. When I lived in Ligonier, if I wanted to, I could go for a bike ride, go bouldering, go for a hike, slack-line, drive to the store, read a book, watch a movie, hang out with friends, call family at a moment's notice, play Settlers of Catan, spend a day in Pittsburgh, go to the movies, etc. Maybe your list is even more extensive. In Karamoja, my normal recreation consisted of reading, playing cards, watching movies, and slack-lining. Certainly a smaller list, But if I really wanted a particular book, I could usually go online, find a Kindle version, and access it as fast as 3G would allow. If I wanted a particular movie, and if no one on the mission had it, I could wait until someone was going to Mbale and request them to pick it up for me for a few thousand shillings (i.e. $1-2). 

What did my neighbors do for recreation? Recreation requires leisure, and in Karamoja women at least do not seem to have much time for leisure. The men play a game that looks a bit like mancala, and soccer is quite popular. From time to time, there are various celebrations in the villages and traditional dances. That's not a long list of recreational options. 

Recently, my uncle told me something that my grandfather once told him: the measure of your affluence is the number of decisions you have to make. For me, an hour of free time leads to a host of decisions: what do I want to do? Read, bake, watch something, etc.? Read. Ok, what do I want to read? A page-turner, a newspaper, a philosophical work, a novel? You get the idea. Even in Uganda, I had far more options than my neighbors. And, ultimately, I knew I was heading back to America, where I would have even more options. And options, moreover, about less trivial things. I have options about what work or study to pursue, about what part of the country (or world) I want to live in, about who I want to spend time with. My neighbors in Uganda  have far fewer options. 

Now, how should I--should we, as Christians--respond to seeing this kind of striking difference in opportunity and wealth? We are commanded to help the poor, and certainly, the standard of living in Karamoja is much less than that of middle class America. Enter my second word: Thought-provoking. Because poverty, aid, and economics are incredibly complicated. As you read this, remember that my summary word is "thought-provoking," not "enlightening." I left Uganda with more questions than I came with, and few, if any, answers. 

Let me see if I can give you a snap-shot of the complexity; although, if you want a lengthier, more articulate description, I recommend reading the book When Helping Hurts or watching the documentary, "Poverty, Inc." For starters, the idea of "poverty" is not exactly clear cut. If someone does not enjoy the same standard of living that I do, does that mean they are poor? I think I can confidently say no, not necessarily. My income as a camp intern may have put me "under the poverty line" in this country, but I hardly felt on the verge of destitution. My own experience demonstrates that one can be under the poverty line in America but live in comparative affluence in Uganda. How, then, do we define "poverty?" I think it is safe to say that "poverty" is contextualized. A living wage in Karamoja is different from a living wage in Kampala, Uganda's capital, just as a living wage in Pittsburgh is different from a living wage in Northern Virginia. My neighbors in Karamoja certainly had less material goods than I did. During the "time of hunger" before the harvest, several of the KEO teachers came to me to withdraw their savings so they could feed their families. Having enough to eat is a very real concern. At the same time, those teachers were able to work and provide food for their families. They had savings to draw on.

Of course, not everyone can work for KEO, save money, and use that money to buy food in the time of hunger. (By the way, saving money in Karamoja is a-whole-nother kettle of fish. For a variety of reasons, saving is very hard and very rare. In general, the immediate need trumps the future need. Read African Friends and Money Matters if you are interested in some explanations why.) But helping without hurting, without perpetuating a broken system or inflicting more damage--that is tricky.

Sadly, Karamoja has and continues to suffered from (presumably) well-intentioned but (apparently) misguided "help." Here are just a few examples. Because of "aid" (typically in the form of free food) given to pregnant women, the marrying age of women in Karamoja has gone down over the past decade or so. According to my sources (my colleagues at the preschool) girls not uncommonly get married at 16, 15, or 14 years of age now. Because of "aid" given to families with malnourished children, there is less incentive to feed one's child well. On top of these specific instances, there is a ubiquitous attitude of dependence and lack of initiative. After all, why work to do what someone else will do for free?

There may be many reasons why ineffective aid continues to poor into Karamoja, Uganda, and other African countries. One reason, though, is that there is a lot of money in foreign aid, and a lot of people besides the official recipient of the aid stand to benefit. Again, I highly recommend watching the documentary "Poverty, Inc." One thing that this documentary fails to mention, however, is corruption in the governments of the receiving countries. "Handling fees" are just the way things work.

The last few paragraphs may sound cynical. I don't mean to be cynical. I am merely trying to communicate a little of the complexity of the system as it stands. And I only saw a small section of the system.

Another eye-opening aspect of my time in Uganda was the realization that there is practically no problem present there that my home country does not share at least in some way. In Uganda, there is a complicated and broken system surrounding poverty, aid, and dependency; that problem is here, too. I could list other examples, but I don't want to give an negatively unbalanced impression of my eye-opening and thought-provoking experience.

My last debrief word was "challenging." One of the most challenging things for me was dealing with the language barrier. I enjoy being able to use language to communicate, and often that was very difficult whenever I was interacting with my Karamojong neighbors. But it was also eye-opening and thought-provoking.

Even though this post is already quite long for a blog post, I want to answer a few more debrief-type questions. Someone asked me the insightful question, "Did you accomplish what you hoped to?" My desire in going to Karamoja was to assist and encourage the people who live and serve and invest there on the mission field on a long(er)-term basis. Over the past year, I and the two other Missionary Associates who worked for KEO made a good amount of progress organizing the curriculum. Also, our being there enabled up our missionary of oversight to take care of other things. I tutored one of the missionary kids in math and science. And, I had the privilege of being the unofficial keeper and instigator of games. So, yes, I think I did somewhat accomplish my goal.

A commonly asked question is, "Would you do it again?" Now, this question can be a bit tricky, because it could mean, "Are you glad you went to Uganda?" or it could mean, "Would you go back to Uganda." The answer to the first interpretation is simply, yes. God opened the door; I went; I am glad. The second interpretation requires a bit more fleshing out. Would I go back to Uganda? At this point, I am about to start a two-year masters program, which I am excited for and fully intend to finish. Currently, I have no fixed plans beyond grad school. That means, in two years, if there is a need in Karamoja that I can fill, yes, I would consider going back. Living in Uganda was challenging at times, but God sustained me throughout my time there through friendships, honorary nieces, employment, and His Word. I have no doubt that if He calls me to return, He will continue to do so. Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, "When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die." That is as true in Uganda as it is in the United States.

Homeward Bound

Right now, I am in the Heathrow Airport in London, still some 3,700 miles from my final destination, but the culture shock has already begun. That or I am just tired from traveling. I guess a 12-hour day of traveling south from Karamoja followed by a night in a hotel, two flights, and approximately half a day in airports (I have now spent over 24 cumulative hours in the Kenya International airport)--I can see how that might lead to dazedly wandering around the mall in Heathrow. Or at least contribute. Without even considering the differences in architecture, shops, etc, it feels weird to see so many mzungus and be able to understand most of the conversations I overhear because they are spoken in what? English. 

In 17 hours, after two more flights, I will be in Pittsburgh, Lord willing. This is roughly the midpoint of my journey, but it would be misleading to say that I am halfway home. Right now, I am caught in the middle between two "homes:" one, a place in which, though strange and difficult at times, I had meaningful work, valued relationships, and some semblance of routine; the other, the place of my native language and culture, yet I have no "normal" established there now to which to return. Now, I am torn between the two.

For longer than I care to admit, I have been counting down the days until July 12, the day I flew out of Uganda. There was a period when that was almost my first thought when I woke up: "X number of days until I go home." As long as I was working or actively engaged in something, that thought vanished. Eventually, I kept track of how many days left more out of habit than for any other reason--and because, the closer one gets to zero in a count down, the easier in becomes to keep track of the numbers. But also, "X number of days left" became "Only X number of days left."

Of course, I want to go back to the States and see my friends and family. I have't seen my two nieces in over six months, although my sister kindly sent me many pictures. Not the same though. I am looking forward to starting grad school in the fall at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh for an M.A. in Rhetoric and Philosophy of Communication. Right? Sounds super fun, right? (Ok, maybe not the word you would use, but, as my mother reminded me recently, "Don't use a big word when a singularly unloquacious and diminutive expression will satisfactorily accomplish the contemporary necessity.") While I attend school, my aunt and uncle have graciously invited me to live with them, so I even have home-base immediately on my return to the States. Other things, like temperature control of my shower and indoor plumbing instead of an outhouse, well, those are just gravy. 

At the same time, I am leaving friends and family in Karamoja. Jesus promised that no one leaves homes and family for His and the Gospel's sake who will not receive a hundred times that which was left in this age. That has certainly been my experience. Some of those I am leaving in Karamoja have indeed become as dear to me as siblings and nieces. Despite the foreign culture, they made Karamoja to be somehow like home. 

And what of KEO, of my work there? That topic, I am going to table for now. According to the last announcement, boarding for my next flight is supposed to start soon. I hope to write another blog with some reflections on my time in Karamoja as a whole, though I'll not presume to call them my "final" reflections. I expect to be unpacking my experience in Uganda much longer than unpacking from my experience in Uganda.

Favorites

"Favorite" is not a word I use very often. I don't have a favorite color, a favorite food, a favorite book, or favorite movie. I have some preferences, maybe a top-five-or-ten list, but no single favorites in those categories. "Favorite" simply isn't a classification I use much. So, if I was asked what my favorite thing about living in Uganda is, I would be at a bit of a loss to identify one particular thing worthy of that superlative. I can, however, come up with a list of some of my favorite things about specific aspects of my experience in Uganda. Here are a few of my favorite things...

First, in the culture category: Greetings. It is culturally acceptable, encouraged, and all but required to greet everyone. It isn't actually required, and I do occasionally pass someone who does not make eye-contact. The vast majority of the time, however, I greet and am greeted by those I pass, whether I know them or not. True, I could do without the greetings of "Amuzugut" (White girl) or the calls of "Muzungu!" (White person!). Again, however, the vast majority of greetings are the polite "Ejok-a" and hand-clasp. Way better than the awkward someone-is-approaching-and-I-want-to-smile-and-say-"hello"-but-that-requires-us-to-make-eye-contact-without-appearing-like-one-of-us-was-staring. You just greet.

Unless you were reading the previous sentence aloud in an accent, you probably didn't notice my Ugandan English. Using Ugandan English and Ngakarimojong phrases is one of my favorites. As politically incorrect as it may be in some places, most Karamojong appreciate it if we wazungu adopt some approximation of a Ugandan accent. Personally, I think mine tends to sound more Indian than Ugandan, but it does accomplish the purpose of facilitating clearer communication. There are also many phrases that are common in Ugandan English but not in American English. There are too many completely. Even me, I am not knowing them all. But they are just there. Ikoteneni (It is like that). 

By now, I am familiar enough with the Ngakarimojong songbook we use in church that I can sing along fairly confidently. Occasionally, I trip up over some five-syllable words or the letter "c," which always makes the "ch" sound, but I know most of the songs well enough to enjoy and even know what I am singing about without referring to the translation.

In the work category--specifically that of reading picture books to the kids in the Preschool--I have a new favorite game: try to get the teacher who is translating for me do weird things. Such as hold his nose and making his arm a "trunk" when there is an elephant character in the story. Because, obviously, elephants always sound congested. Obviously. Since we read the same story to the kids for two weeks (one week in K-Jong and one week in English) interactive stories are always best. If the children also hold their noses, pretend their arms are trunks, and trumpet like elephants, that's totally a win.

Interactive stories do sometimes have their drawbacks though. One day, I was sitting towards the back of the group of children, reading the English text aloud while one of the teachers held the book in front of the group and translated. In the story, there was a flash of lightening, so I clapped loudly. Despite having heard the story before, the small child in front of me apparently wasn't expected the sudden clap of thunder. Fortunately, after he recovered from shock and resumed his seated position, he thought it funny, too.

Other work favorites might include the fact that I am almost finished organizing, formatting, editing, etc. the Bible story booklets that we use with the primary schools, a project that I started shortly after arriving in Karamoja. Like so many other projects, there will certainly be room for improvement after I "finish," but the curriculum should at least be entirely usable.

Living conditions category. Game nights. Euchre is a popular game, but lately Hand and Foot (yes, it does sound like some version of Twister, but it is in fact a card game) has risen in the polls. Settlers, Hearts, Dominion, and Liars Dice also make fairly regular appearances. While running has never been one of my favorite activities, I do enjoy the view of the nearby mountain while I run on nice, flat, savannah. I have a favorite lizard, who likes to hang out on my window sill. We have an agreement: he doesn't come in my room, and I don't yell and throw things at him. My bathroom is an outhouse and my sink an outdoor spigot, which means I can stargaze while I brush my teeth before bed. I get to be an honorary aunt; that's definitely a favorite.

I may not have a favorite food, but food deserves a mention. On Wednesdays, I make breakfast for dinner. I rotate between French toast, quiche, pancakes, and breakfast burritos. Over the past few months, I have developed a great appreciation for both meal planning and cooking. Cooking while listening to an audio book has become a (usually) relaxing, productive way to close out a work day, and, because of the dearth of convenient grocery stores in the neighborhood, meal planning is helpful, if not indispensable. 

Speaking of food, I learned how to make African chai (ginger tea made with milk, sugar, and spices). It requires slightly too much time to make on the mornings that I go to work, but Sunday mornings are much more leisurely. Drinking chai while reading my Bible, that's a favorite. 

Some of these things may seem quite small, but if Julie Andrews can dub whiskers on kittens and schnitzel with noodles "favorites," than I'll enjoy my pet lizard and African chai.

African Holiday

Today, while Yoweri Museveni is being sworn in for his seventh term as President of Uganda, I am in the capital city of Kampala. Traffic between Kampala and the airport is hectic, even by Ugandan standards. A little while ago, I heard some kind of very loud aircraft flying unseen over the city. In some ways, it is a historical day; in others, it's just business as usual. This is Kampala, and traffic is always crazy; this is Uganda, and Museveni is still president. 

What, you may be wondering, am I doing in Kampala? Kampala is in south-central Uganda, and Karamoja, where I am supposed to be working, is about 340 kilometers northeast. The short answer is, I'm on holiday, although it is almost over. I start the return journey to Karamoja tomorrow. The main reason for my vacation was that my friend, Joey, came for a visit and, out of the kindness of my heart, I volunteered to go on a safari with him so he wouldn't have to go alone.

In the week and a half he was here, I tried to give him a well-rounded experience of life in Uganda. From the paved, crowded roads of Kampala to the muddy, unpredictable roads of Karamoja, where we had to unload and then reload the 30 beams of steel from Bob's truck so he could get it unstuck, to public transportation from Mbale, to slippery backroads of Kampala again when the main road was shut down because of the presidential inauguration, travel itself can be quite an adventure. In the food department, Joey got to experience chapati, roasted bananas, and meat on a stick, sold by vendors who swarm the car and shove their wares in any open window; rice and beans for lunch on the mission; mandazi (kind of like a cake doughnut) and African milk tea at the home a friend of the mission, and then second dinner of rice, chapati, boiled goat, and cooked cabbage at the home of two clinic staff. Oh, and fried grasshopper, which was also a first for me. Then, of course, there was work on the mission. Joey spent a morning at Moru a Grace preschool, learning Ngakarimojong spelling alongside the "Top Class" students. He visited the village of Nakaale with a health education team. And he spent two days pouring concrete at our new clinic building. Personally, I've never poured concrete, but I think "pouring" is somewhat misleading; from what I hear, "shoveling" is the better word, as they do it by hand.

After almost a week of life in Karamoja, we started the two-day trip downcountry to Kampala for our safari. Between the boat ride on the Nile and the two game drives, we saw a couple dozen elephants, at least as many giraffes, about 300 hippopotamus (one of which grazed right outside the tent at night! I have now been less than five feet from a three-ton hippo!) a leopard, a jackal, over a dozen crocodiles ranging in length from about a foot long to maybe about 12 feet long, four lion cubs and two lions, one of which crossed the road right in front of our vehicle, a couple red-tailed monkeys, and more baboons, water buffalo, Defassa waterbuck, Jacksons hartebeast, and Ugandan kob (types of antelope) than I could count. It was a very successful safari, and I was reminded that God loves to give good gifts to His children.

At times, on the safari, I was also reminded of my Grandpa, who passed away at the beginning of last month. Grandpa has wanted to go on an African Safari, and he would have enjoyed hearing about the animals we saw. I'm not a very good story-teller, but when the story is about a hippo right outside your tent, that's pretty cool anyway. Or the baboon that swiped a banana peel right out of a safari-er's hand. Or watching the baby crocodiles for a few minutes before realizing that the mother crocodile is right there too, submerged under the water. I won't be able to tell my grandpa these stories when I get back to the States, but the good news is that, for Christians, parting is not so much "Goodbye," as it is "See you later." I am grateful for that, because there have been a lot of partings lately. In some ways, missing people is a good thing; it means there are good people to miss.

Joey's visit and going on the safari were timely. As of today, I have exactly two months left in Uganda, and I expect to spend all but travel time in Karamoja. However, when I get back up to Karamoja, life and work will be significantly different: Rachel and Angela, the other two Missionary Associates who have been working with KEO for the past eight months, will not be there when I get back. Neither will Martha, my missionary of oversight who is in charge of KEO. When I get back, I have a week before KEO starts up again (the teachers have also been on holiday, although I am sure they've been tending their gardens and not safari-ing during their break). During that week, I'll continue teaching math and science (Caleb just finished Pre-Algebra and we are moving on to Algebra) and work on making sure I understand what my new KEO responsibilities are. Then, KEO starts up again, and I get to be point person for a few weeks on my own before Martha comes back to what will hopefully still be recognizable as Karamoja Education Outreach.

In some ways, despite the sadness of saying goodbye/see you later, I am grateful for the change and the challenge that comes with it. While I am excited to return to be closer to friends and family in the States and look forward to grad school in the fall, I don't want to check out of where I am right now. I don't want to coast during my last two months, and the increase in responsibility will, I think, help to prevent that. My prayer is for strength and wisdom to do my work with excellence, diligence, and cheerfulness, and that I would learn and grow in these last few months.

Addendum: I wrote this blog over a week ago, when I was still in Kampala. However, due to problems with my internet connection, it has taken me until now to post it.  

Memories of Grandpa Mac

Everyone living on a foreign mission field must face the reality that changes take place back home without us. When I first came to Uganda last September, I fully expected to not meet my newest niece until she was nine months old. Sadie was born in November; I got to see pictures and looked forward to meeting her in person. When my next oldest sister got engaged (as she warned me would probably happen while I was gone), I began looking at plane tickets. Thanks to the generosity of many people, especially the engaged couple, I was able to fly home, meet my two-month-old niece, spend Christmas with my family, and attend the family reunion that was my sister's wedding on January 2. I also got to see my Grandpa Mac one last time.

My Grandpa, Alan McIntyre, died last Friday morning. When I first came to Uganda, Grandpa was in the process of looking into treatment options for his cancer. On one level, I knew that there was a possibility that Grandpa would not be here when I return in July, but I didn't think that possibility would prove true. Changes happen, but it is hard to really expect them to happen in one's absence.

Grandpa's funeral is scheduled for April 9. I will be here in Karamoja. The missionary community here is very kind, supportive, and caring. I think what I will miss the most about not going to the funeral is the chance to swap Grandpa Mac stories with my family. There are a lot of good Grandpa Mac stories. Since I won't be able to do so in person, I would like to share some of my memories of Grandpa Mac with the family and friends who read this blog. 

So many memories! Watching Grandpa steam corn on the cob for the Toewes family reunion; going with him to the woods behind their house to scare starlings with the gas canon or 22s; drinking Grandpa's ice tea, which my siblings and I called "brown stuff;" Grandpa helping and teaching my siblings and me to fish at a friend's pond, untangling our lines and helping us attach worms; taking us to explore the Susquehanna river bed during a drought; taking us swimming in the neighbor's pool; taking us out in his motorboat, which, as I recall, became a rowboat when the motor stopped working; taking us for walks in the woods in search of wine berries; going hunting and shooting. Grandpa Mac was an outdoorsman.

As I think back over my memories, I realize that many of the things I enjoy doing now, Grandpa was involved in. For example, as a kid, I played in his work shop many times. I remember one time tearfully examining the wobbling structure of wood and nails that I had put together in the hopes of making a chair. And I remember Grandpa telling me that making things with wood is hard, even for carpenters. I have never tried to make a chair again, but I still enjoy playing in wood shops and working on less ambitious projects.

It was Grandpa Mac who taught me to ride a bicycle without training wheels. He held on to the back of the bike seat to keep me steady while I pedaled around the parking lot of the church near my Grandparent's house in Lancaster. I didn't notice when he let go. I suddenly realized that Grandpa is standing over there, and I am biking all by myself! 

In 2012, Grandpa went to the Cleveland Clinic for cancer treatment. During those several weeks, he and my Grandmother stayed at "The Hope Lodge," a place at which those undergoing treatment and their caregivers could stay for free if they lived more than 50 miles from the Clinic. In the summer of that year, I had the privilege of partaking in a fundraiser for the Hope Lodge: a four-day bicycle ride across Ohio. I rode the bike that my grandparents gave me as a high school graduation present. The following summer, I biked across the U.S. with a small team in order to raise funds for a scholarship at my alma mater, Geneva College. My parents and grandparents joined the team for a short time. On a foggy morning in Indiana, I biked with my Mom and Grandpa Mac for 20 miles. A long way from training wheels.

Then, of course, there is hunting and shooting. (Despite the many fishing excursions Grandpa took me on, I am afraid I will never have his enjoyment of the sport). I remember shooting one of Grandpa's BB guns in his back yard with my siblings. I might have been eight. Grandpa took me deer hunting when I was 12. When my Dad and brother shot their first bucks, Grandpa marked their foreheads with some of the blood. I did not succeeded in downing a buck until I was 23. Grandpa wasn't there to perform the ritual, but I asked my boss, who came to help drag the deer, to do it. One time, Grandpa, my dad, my older brother, and I went pheasant hunting with a friend of Grandpa's who had a pair of bird dogs. I wasn't actually hunting because I was too young, but the pheasant stew Grandpa made afterwards was delicious. Grandma had a rule: you kill it, you grill it.

During high school, college, and the few years after, I did not go on as many adventures with Grandpa Mac, but we swapped stories. Sometimes, I joined him on his dog-walking-loop, and he would point out different animals or points of interest along the way. Grandpa was certainly not the most talkative member of the family, but his stories and occasional one-liners at the dinner table were always entertaining. When I went to work at Ligonier Camp and Conference Center after college, we continued swapping stories over the phone periodically. I'd tell him about wood cutting day at camp, about any biking adventures I'd had lately, and about any interesting wildlife I'd seen. Most of his stories involved wildlife, whether animals he'd seen recently or many years ago.

While at Ligonier, I was advised to get a goose hunting license. I had never been goose hunting before, nor did I have a shotgun, but it sounded worth a shot. I asked Grandpa if he had a 12 gauge I could borrow. But "borrow" did not seem to be a part of Grandpa's vocabulary. He gave me his single-shot, break action shotgun, which, he explained, his father had given him when he was 12 years old. As he handed it to me, he said, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't sell it." Sell it? Absolutely not, that shotgun is going to be in the family for many years to come!

This coming May, I plan to go on a safari. Grandpa Mac always wanted to go on an African safari. I had hoped to be able to take lots of pictures and share them and the accompanying stories with him when I go back to the States. I'll still go, and take pictures, and think of Grandpa. We'll have lots of stories to swap when we meet again in glory. 

Language and Language Learning

As you can probably tell from the title of this post, I would like to share a little bit about my experience with the Ngakarimojong language. First, a disclaimer: I make no claims about the accuracy of the information I here set forth. I am not a linguist, nor have I spent anywhere near enough time studying this language to offer a systematic, meticulous introduction to Ngakarimojong. What I offer here is merely my own nerdy thoughts based on my limited experience and study. 

Allow me to show off for just a few seconds. Ejok-a? Engaleo-a? Erae ekaakiro Fiona. Erae ayong amalim. Abunit ayong ka Amerika. Eyai ngikur tooma ngakipi-a? Ok, I am done showing off. Now, I'll use those sentences as a springboard. 

Hands down, the word I say most often is, Ejok. The basic translation is "good." However, it is also used as a greeting. If I say, Ejok-a? (the "-a" makes it a question), then I am asking, "Is it good?" or, to be more grammatically proper in English, "Is it well?" The answer is, Ejok! or Ejok a nooi! for emphasis, if one is feeling very good. On top of using ejok as a greeting, it is also the most common word for saying that something is good. As far as I know, Ngakarimojong does not have the plethora of synonyms for "good" that English has. In English, something can be outstanding, brilliant, terrific, wonderful, amazing, superb, alright, decent, acceptable, etc. etc. In K-jong, something can be ejok or ejok a nooi.

When I and my KEO colleagues first started learning the language, Martha (our missionary of oversight) oriented us by explaining the rules for pronunciation and equipping us with several pages of printed notes with common and useful phrases. For example, Engaleo-a? is a question meaning "Is it well," and the proper answer is Ee, engaleo. But if you are asked, Ingale iyong-a? (Is it well with you?) then the proper response is Ee, angale. At first, I learned by rote memorization. Which meant that I often got the answers confused, since, to my English-trained ear, engaleo, ingale, and angale all sound very similar. In time, however, I came to understand the the prefixes reflect third, second, and first person, respectively.

You may have noticed, in the example of Ngakarimojong that I wrote towards the beginning, the words ayong and iyong. Perhaps you thought the latter one was a typo, but, no. Ayong means I, and iyong means you.  The difference is one letter, one sound. Actually, ayong can mean I or me, depending on which syllable is emphasized, but that distinction is a bit beyond our capacity to keep straight or even usually to hear. 

It sounds like a truism that, in Ngakarimojong, vowels are incredibly important, but let me explain. Vowels indicate 1st, 2nd, or 3rd person; they indicate gender (amalim is a female teacher while emalim is a male teacher); and there are pretty much never two consonants that are not separated by at least one vowel. Wtht vwls n nglsh, y mght pssbly b bl t rd ths. Without vowels in Ngakarimojong, there is no way. Jk. Ngl? R yng mlm. Yeah, no idea. Not to mention the fact that changing a vowel can sometimes be the difference between "rock" and "snuff," between "brother-in-law" and "drunkard." Forget your P's and Q's, watch out for your A, E, I, O, and Us.

Speaking of letters, Ngakarimojong uses the Roman alphabet, minus a few letters (F, H, Q, V, X, Z) and with the addition of one: a single character for the "ng" sound, pictured below. While this is not a new sound for us English speakers, it is the first sound of many words, which is a bit difficult. English doesn't have any words (that I know of) that begin with the "ng" sound. Try starting a word with "nga." Not "nya." "Ng." Form the sound towards the back of your throat. See? It's a bit difficult. For the first few days of language learning, I practiced saying, "Song. So-nga. Nga!" until I could successfully start a word with Ng.

Happily for those of us who are trying to learn the language, Ngakarimojong uses a phonetic alphabet in which there are very, very few wierd rules and exceptions like "I before E except after C, blah, blah, blah." There are only a handful of letter combinations that change the sound of the letters. Instead of "ch," Ngakarimojong uses "c." Usually, vowels each make their own sound, even when paired (or tripled). Thus, rather than having a long vowel, diphthongs are spelled out. In English, the long A sound, as in "fate," or "weight" (which doesn't even have an A in it!) is actually the combination of two sounds: eh+ee, represented in K-Jong simply as "e-i." There are only a few combinations of vowels that make a different sound.

Becuase K-Jong is so beautifully phonetic, it is fairly easy for someone literate in English to learn to read it. Except when it isn't. You see, as best as I can figure, easily half of the language is composed of prefixes, suffixes, and other syllables that get inserted in somewhere. Here is a very simple example. Kingit means "to ask." Turn it into Akingiset and you have "question," or perhaps more literally, "thing that asks." To make it plural, add Nga- and -a for ngakingiseta. So, sometimes words get rather long and cumbersome.  

Now, combine that with masculine/feminine and the fact that there seem to be a lot of irregular plurals. Oh, and I almost forgot directionality. With the addition of different syllables, one can indicate that so-and-so is doing the action for someone, to someone, with someone, to me, to you etc. I'll be honest, I do not understand the directionality yet, so I am afraid I can't give you a better example. At any rate, a native Ngakarimojong speaker can be very precise with a single word. In English, the word "give" stays the same regardless of who is giving what to whom; not so in K-Jong. 

Memorizing vocab words is useful and necessary, but grammar is the fascinating part. Grammar sets the boundaries and rules for the playing field. Quite frankly, I am just barely scraping the surface of the grammar. Verb tenses are still somewhere between a mystery and a muddle to me. I can read K-Jong much better than I can speak it, to the point where I can sometimes catch errors in translations of our Bible lessons. However, I do not know enough that I can correct said discovered errors. 

So, after this brief introduction to Ngakarimojong, perhaps you can decipher what I wrote at the beginning. Nabo (Again). Ejok-a? (Hello.) Engaleo-a? (Is it well?) Erae ekaakiro Fiona. (My name is Fiona.) I totally forgot to talk about possessives. Oh well. Erae ayong amalim. (I am a teacher.) A female teacher, as you can tell by the fact that I said A-malim and not E-malim.  Abunit ayong ka Amerika. (I am from Amerika.) Note the sentence structure: verb-subject-object, literally something along the lines of "Come from I America." Eyai ngikur tooma ngakipi-a? (Are there worms in the water?) Just another useful phrase. 

Animal Life: Wild and Domestic

Before I left for Uganda, two of my good friends, who shall remain nameless, instructed me to bring back specific and unique souvenirs for them: an elephant and a giraffe. They assured me that I should have no trouble smuggling a baby elephant and a baby giraffe in my luggage. What are two checked bags for after all? Well, despite living in Africa, I do not encounter these mammals on a regular basis. In fact, the last time I saw either of them was in the Pittsburgh zoo. In this blog, I would like to describe some of the animal life that I do encounter. I must admit, however, that I am not even an amateur zoologist; what I here write is based only on my casual observations from everyday life and what I have heard from others here in Karamoja. For more information, you could always try Wikipedia...or come for a visit.

As I said, there are no elephants or giraffes here. According to one of the K-jong workers, there used to be elephants in this area, "but we ate them all." I don't know how long ago. So, what mammals are there in Karamoja? Cows, goats, mangy dogs, and the occasional cat. Those are the ones that I see on a regular basis. The cows and goats are the most prevalent. It is not uncommon to have to clap or hiss at cows to get them to move off the road, and for goats wander, bleating, into our church services (I mean that literally). Allegedly, there are hyenas up the mountain that might occasionally wander down and cause problems. For the most part, though, our large mammals are relatively domesticated. Many of them even live in villages.

Goats outside Nakaale Presbyterian Church on a Sunday morning

One other mammal that we have in Karamoja is rats. I personally haven't seen many, but I know there are several kinds. For example, there are the kinds that come out at night and nibble on people while they are sleeping. Those rats are killed on sight. Then, there are also bush rats. When the K-jong burn fields, young boys often stand at the ready to catch and kill the bush rats who are fleeing the fire. According to our community health education, well-cooked bush rat tastes like chicken. I would not be surprised to learn that Karamoja is home to many other types of rodents--I've been told that porcupines live in the foothills of the mountain--but these seem to be the more common ones.

On to reptiles. Not my favorite. But also fairly common. We have lizards, toads, and snakes. Of those, geckos are the ones I encounter most frequently. I'm no herpetologist, but I'd say I've run into at least three different kinds of gecko. There are the pale brown ones that I typically see in my shower a couple times week. This afternoon, when I took down my mosquito net to shake it out, I accidentally captured one of these lighter-colored reptiles. They are very speedy, and, consequently, I have not yet managed to get a good picture.

The third kind of gecko is significantly larger, dark green, with yellow stripes. The one pictured likes to hang out in the window sills of my building. I call him Buddy. As in, "Oh, hey there, buddy, I didn't see you there." Overall, though, geckos are fine; they don't bother people (except when one accidentally steps on them [ahem]), and they eat mosquitos.

A few weeks ago, we found a monitor lizard in a hole on property. We speculate that he was sick and crawled down there to die, which he did a few days later. Evidently, then, there are monitor lizards in Karamoja.

There are also toads. One found its way into my colleagues' room recently. I did not observe the action, but I heard the commotion and many cries of "Eew, gross!" Another toad (let's call him Tom) occasionally makes an appearance while I brush my teeth at night. Tom is only slightly smaller than my fist.

And snakes. Unfortunately, we do have snakes, though I have not seen many, for which I am thankful. Here are the snakes I've seen so far: a couple small, baby black mambas, which met there demise in the form of a field hockey stick kept for such purposes; a 10+ foot long python or possibly boa constrictor which was already dead when I saw it (picture included); and a yard-long-ish snake that might have been a puff adder. The puff adder was in a tree above one of our village outreach "schools." Needless to say, we relocated for the morning, and a handful of young men from the village came to evict and kill the snake. As you can see, snakes are not really tolerated here. I don't know if there are any non-venomous snakes in the area, but the standard protocol is to assume it is dangerous and beat it do death. I think that is enough about reptiles.

Birds. There are many, many birds, the vast majority of which I do not know. Here are just a few:

Pied / Vested Crow. They are quite loud and frequently around the compound.

Brown Kite

Small, colorful bird outside my window

Don't know this bird either

Other than insects, which I won't go into, that is an overview of the animals I most frequently encounter in Karamoja. Perhaps not the most exotic selection. The nearby Mount Kadam is home to baboons, colobus monkeys, and no doubt many other animals. Elsewhere in Uganda, on the game preserves, I understand there are even elephants and giraffes. But here in the bush, the animals are too common to seem wild.

Taste of Karamoja

When I was back in the States, one of the more common questions about life in Uganda was, "What is the food like?" Because our diet on the mission compound is notably different from that of our neighbors, there are two parts to this question and answer.

In thinking about the local diet, I am reminded of a quote from the animated movie, Atlantis: "I got yer four basic food groups! Beans, bacon, whiskey, and lard!" Here, the four basic food groups might be as follows: sorgum (a type of grain); cassava (a potato-like, starchy tuber); maize; and beans. Translation: starch, starch, starch, and incomplete protein. Ok, so that isn't the whole kitchen sink, but, based on my observations, those seem to be the staples. 

A word about sorgum. From what I observe, there are several different ways to prepare sorgum. One of them is to make a sorgum beer, (which happens to be organic and naturally gluten free). Usually, this beer is served hot for breakfast. From the mission compound in the morning, we can hear women calling in the villages, announcing that the beer is ready. Throughout the day, this beer can be watered down to make it last longer. The beer residue is also edible, although I have been told by some of the missionaries that it tastes nasty. Personally, I have yet to taste any beer I like, so I can't imagine enjoying a sorgum beer residue. 

Additionally, sorgum can be fried or made into porridge or posho. Posho, or "atap" in the local tongue, is like porridge but thicker. Porridge/posho can also be made out of maize, rice, or pretty much any available flour. One can serve posho slightly sweetened, plain, or a fermented. A few weeks ago, while I was in one of the villages, a KEO teacher told me that one of the village women wanted us to eat some porridge. Usually, I, as a weak-stomached foreigner, try to avoid eating village food, at the advise of the more experienced missionaries. However, the offer of hospitality seemed so direct that I thought I would risk the consequences of eating whatever was put in front of me. It looked like a very full bowl of cream of wheat. It tasted like vomit. Obviously, I am no connoisseur of porridge, but I would hazard a guess that I got the fermented variety. I was extremely grateful for a reason to excuse myself and not partake of any more of the porridge. The Karimojong KEO teachers, however, apparently found it quite acceptable, because they finished it in the few minutes while I was elsewhere.

Cassava: usually boiled around here, but if you go down country you can find cassava fries. My understanding is that cassava is pretty much straight starch with little to no other nutritional value. Very similar to potatoes, which, as you probably know, are valuably mostly for their ability to transport Ketchup. Maize: can be turned into a flour or porridge, or roasted intact and eaten directly off the cob. Rice: it's here. Not quite as prevalent as sorgum, but there are some places within walking distance that can grow rice. Chapatis! I almost forgot to mention chapatis! Chapatis are rather like thick, greasy tortillas. Delicious. A common Ugandan breakfast food downcountry (i.e. not so much here in K-ja) is essentially a breakfast burrito made in a chapati. By the way, chapatis, I believe, are Indian in origin. Courtesy of colonialism. 

Protein: Yes, there are beans. I don't eat them, or know much about them, other than that, the other day, one of my KEO friends, Lokalei, said he had beans for breakfast. Beer and beans--sounds lovely. Other sources of protein include ground nuts, (which are very similar to peanuts, but different,) chicken, goat, and beef. Despite the fact the the Karimojong are cattle herders, meat is eaten quite rarely, and generally only for special occasions. Personally, I recommend boiled goat over roasted, and the hair-free cuts if given the choice. 

Fruits and vegetables: I must admit that I don't know what or if fruits and vegetables are a regular part of a Karimojong diet. If I had to guess, I would say that cabbage, tomatoes, and bananas are among the more commonly consumed produce, but I have rarely, if ever, seen anyone eating them outside the mission compound, so I cannot say for certain. 

Considering that this is largely a subsistence farming culture, it makes sense that most people's diets are fairly restricted. In theory, if the land one owns or rents can only produce sorgum, then that is what one grows. And if sorgum is the only crop everyone in the village can grow, then the price of sorgum during harvest season drops as the market becomes inundated. As a result, one may or may not have enough cash to purchase the fruits, vegetables, and other commodities grown elsewhere. So, one eats (and drinks) sorgum and feeds sorgum posho to the hungry child because it will fill the child's stomach. An imbalanced diet is better than no diet.

In the previous paragraph, I said, "In theory," because I am not in a position to say with confidence whether or not sorgum is in fact the only viable option for the sandy soil of Nakaale. Based on my conversations with some of the KEO teachers, I believe that sourgum is the most drought-resistant crop they have access to, and therefore, it is the safest investment for farmers. But there are other factors as well that contribute to the lack of diversity in farming, not the least of which is theft. But that perhaps is a topic for another blog. At any rate, here on the mission compound, which is also in Nakaale parish, we "cultivate" (read "throw seeds in the ground and see what happens") a variety of fruits and vegetables: mangos, pomegranates, passion fruit, bananas, guavas, papaya, oranges, lemons, tomatoes, pumpkins. Right now, it is mango season, which is delightful! During the farming season, the mission also operates a farming project, which has successfully grown a couple fields worth of peas. 

And that leads me to the food that we eat here on the mission compound. First, beans and rice again. Every week day, unless one opts out of the lunch count, there is beans, rice, cooked cabbage, and sometimes g-nut sauce for lunch. Other than that, our food can be divided into three different categories: food you can get in the nearby trading center of Namalu, food you can get in the city of Mbale 2+ hours away, and food you can pretty much only get from the capital, Kampala, or from the States. From Namalu, we can get staples like flour, sugar, salt, Blue Band (margarine type butter substitute), rice, beans, and some seasonal vegetables (usually, bananas, onions, cabbage, tomatoes). From Mbale, we can get most other things that we use on a regular basis: long-life milk, pasta, canned goods, meat, etc. Then, there are those rare and exciting delicacies like pepperoni and chocolate chips that only come from Kampala or the States.

In short, then, food here on the mission is similar to food in the States, just with substitutes. For example, instead of lettuce, we eat cabbage salads. Instead of sour cream or cream cheese, we use homemade plain yogurt. Almost everything we eat, we make from scratch. Honestly, the biggest difference, I think, is the planning required. If you need an ingredient, it is not as if you can just quickly drive to Walmart. I am still figuring out how to gauge groceries to last until the next Mbale trip. I am getting better at menu planning, though. I have declared Wednesday to be breakfast for dinner night. Last Wednesday, I made passion fruit pancakes. This week, I'll try my hand at quiche.

Here and Back Again

Right now, I am sitting in the Entebbe Flight Motel in Entebbe, Uganda, trying not to give in to the temptation to take a nap. Yesterday, I was counting down the hours until my flights would depart or arrive; today, I am counting down the hours until acceptable bedtime. Six hours to go.

Four months and a week or so ago, I arrived in Uganda for the first time. My flights--though long--were uneventful, with smooth connections and successful retrieval of luggage at the end. Arriving in Uganda roughly 23 hours later, I spent that first night in the Entebbe Flight Motel, which is where I am now. The next day, I and my two KEO colleagues were driven to Mbale. Everything was new to me. Everything was worth staring at: the droves of motorcycle taxis, the staggeringly large loads people carried or wheeled around on bicycles, the sometimes terrifying traffic "patterns," the houses and buildings, the roadside markets, the fields of sugar cane and ubiquitous banana trees. I don't remember feeling particularly jet-lagged in the midst of the thrill of finally being here..

There are some notable differences this time around, starting with my flying experiences. My friend, Jill, dropped me off at Dulles International Airport, and I joined the queue of--no exaggeration--50-70 people in front of the Ethiopian Airlines check in. Perhaps that should have been my warning that things were not going to go as smoothly as I'd hoped. However, despite the length of the line, I got to my gate just as the plane started boarding. My seat was at the very back of the plane, I had a window seat, and the seat next to me was unoccupied. Pretty ideal sleeping conditions. (To my extroverted friends who would be horrified by such a situation, I had a few long-ish and pleasant conversations with a woman from Nigeria, which is far more talking that I usually do on planes, regardless of who is sitting next to me.) Dulles to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia: on schedule.

Addis Ababa to Nairobi, Kenya: about half an hour late. My layover time in Nairobi was only an hour and 40 minutes, so I was a little worried, but not too much. I figured my layover in Nairobi was long enough for a slightly late arrival, or long enough for me to get confused in the airport and find myself at immigration instead of the terminal. Unfortunately, there was not enough tie for both to happen, which they did. When I arrived at the correct gate at 2:20, 30 minutes before my flight was scheduled to leave, I was told that the gate was already closed. The next flight for Entebbe through Rwandair was to leave at 10:10 pm. My average layover time in Nairobi to date is eight hours. I've been there twice.

Despite having nearly eight hours to figure out ticketing, through some quirk of it being a Rwandair flight ordered through Ethiopian Air, the Transfer Services agent was unable to rebook my ticket, although I was able to buy a new one. After waiting for roughly seven hours by the Transfer Services desk and hourly inquiring the status of my ticket, I finally had my boarding pass in hand...approximately 30 minutes before the scheduled take-off. As I hurried toward the gate, I was afraid that it would again be closed. Happily, it was not. At that point, I realized that my checked baggage retrieval stub was still with one of the ladies at the Transfer Services desk. Rather than risk being turned away from another flight, I checked with a boarding official, who assured me my luggage was good to go. Nairobi to Entebbe, Uganda: more or less on schedule.

It was a little after 11:00 pm when I arrived at Entebbe airport. My luggage, on the other hand, did not arrive until 12:30 am. Not having the baggage stubs, thankfully, did not prevent me from collecting them, although I would recommend keeping track of all baggage and boarding pass stubs until one reaches one's final destination and can account for one's luggage. Preparation is the best preventative for emergencies. 

That is my series of airline-related unfortunate events. Looking back at it now, it doesn't seem like that big a deal. I got here. My stuff got here. It just took longer and cost more than I originally thought it would. In Dulles, I began reading a book titled, Openness Unhindered  by Rosaria Champagne Butterfield. One line in particular stood out to me: "Lower your expectations; increase your joy." That was a hard quote to think about during those hours in Nairobi airport, while I still was not sure I would make it onto the next flight. I was not "in the mood" to do any such thing. I was frustrated. And I was sad. 

As you probably gathered if you weren't already aware, I recently just spent three weeks back in the States. The main reason for returning to the States was my sister's wedding, which was January 2. (As my mother says, the wedding went off without a hitch except for one). While back in the States, I also got to spend Christmas with my some of my family, meet my newest niece, see the rest of my family at my sister's wedding (which felt to me like a family reunion with a wedding thrown in), go rock climbing twice, visit good friends, play several dozen games with different groups of friends/family, and attend Ligonier Camp's staff reunion. In other words, I got to spend time with almost all of my favorite people. It was so good! So good, in fact, that well before it was time to return to Uganda, I was already dreading leaving and saying goodbye. 

That's another difference between this time coming to Uganda and last time. Last time, not that I wasn't sorry to say goodbye, but I was also excited by the unknown adventure of going to Uganda. Now, I have a better idea of what living and working in Karamoja is like. In short, it is a mixed bag of good things and hard things. And, after a month, it feels extraordinary like ordinary life. After three weeks of an extraordinarily sweet Christmas vacation with friends and family, it can be hard to return to ordinary life. 

One important thing, though, is the same on this return trip as it was on my first arrival: God's promises are true, and His Word brings comfort and encouragement. If I were to detail every passage God has brought to my attention, that would have to be a separate blog entry, so I will just mention a few. Psalms 23, 30, 130, and 131 for starters. John 14 and 15. Mark 10:28-30:

"Peter began to say to Him, 'Behold, we have left everything and followed You.' Jesus said, 'Truly I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother of father or children or farms, for My sake and for the gospel's sake, but that he will receive a hundred times as much now in the present age, houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and farms, along with persecutions; and in the age to come, eternal life."  Currently, this passage sounds almost more like a description than a promise.

John 14:1-2: "Do not let your hearts be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father's house are many dwelling places; if it were not so, I would have told you. If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also."When I was back in the States, I was asked several times, "Where are you from?" I've lived just over half of my life in Syracuse, NY, but for the past 12 years I've been in Western Pennsylvania, but my parents are now in Texas, my permanent mailing address is my uncle's house in Pittsburgh, and I am have most recently been living in Uganda. Typically, that's more information than the average inquirer was looking for. I eventually started answering by saying, "Well, my bed is in Uganda." Technically, though, it's not my bed, but I don't feel like a guest when I sleep there. I am certainly not homeless, but home is...complicated. Ultimately, though, Jesus is preparing a place for me.