The Dominican, The Church, and The World

            

Photo by Bill Patrick

There are some new and exciting opportunities that have come up in my life, but in order to properly explain how they affect me, I must backtrack to this past year and the adventures it contained. (feel free to jump forward as you wish)

CULTURE SHOCK

            If you’re reading this, you may have read my prior blog postings about my trip to Uganda I took a year ago. (I can’t believe it has already been a year since my return!) I tried to be honest in my writings about how heavily I was affected by that trip and about my exposure to a new and very different culture. I tried to be vulnerable about my struggles and the difficulties I had adapting. The trip was easy for me to take because I delight in the idea of adventure and mystery, but the constant discomfort I felt in every circumstance, the heavy realization of my own race and culture, and the homesickness that weighed me down were nearly impossible to endure. It was because of the love and support of the people who I have met along the labyrinth of life that I was able to push through until the end.

            The advancements in travel in the last 200 years have been extraordinary. The first car with an internal combustion engine was created in 1807. The first gas-powered car was in 1886. In 1902, The Wright brothers lifted off the ground in the first fully-controlled aircraft. Many Christians and humanitarians alike have taken advantage of these progressions. Like butter on warm toast, people have slid their way across the globe into new settings and cultures. Anthropology and science have expanded, foreign business has been utilized, media and news has reached a global level, and many cultures have unfortunately suffered in the process.

            Uganda is a country that has had many visitors from around the world. As I stayed in Jinja, I got to experience this tourism first hand. Jinja is a common site for adventurers from all over. There is white-water rafting and kayaking. People enjoy testing their luck and skill when fishing for Nile Perch. It is home to the “Source of the Nile” where some of Mahatma Ghandi’s ashes were supposedly released to flow within the ebbs of the river. There have been many Europeans and North American’s who have made Jinja their home, establishing restaurants for tourists, development workers, and missionaries to dine in comfortably when they eventually tire of beans and posho. Uganda was a British colony up until 1962 and continues to hold onto English as one of its national language. This also makes travel more accessible to foreigners.

            Because of these developments, the publicity around some Christian charity workers, the connection that a certain evangelical church has drawn between “the pearl of Africa” and Jesus’ parable in Matthew 13 (Go watch God Loves Uganda on Netflix), and the rise of the Ugandan adoption “market”; many Christians have decided to make Jinja their destination for short and long term mission trips. There is no wrong in working toward the education of a culture. There is no wrong in attempting to build up a supportive, loving and empowered community; however, when you neglect to learn the behaviors and history of a culture, you are most likely doing them a disservice.  One of my biggest struggles in Jinja was seeing my Christian brothers and sisters strive to make great changes for people they love and pray for, but neglecting to stick around long enough to follow up with the people they encountered and learn if their service was actually developing and advancing the community. Many Ugandans have learned from their Christian visitors that White people know more and have more than Black people do. When we go into a community only to teach and give, if we forget to learn and receive, we are being a proud people. There are obviously going to be times (for example: relief aid) that giving is important. Even then, we must intend to give with care and relationally instead of from obligation or guilt.

REVERSE CULTURE SHOCK

            When I got home from Uganda, I felt as though I had been stripped down. Everything I thought I once knew was wrong. Everything I learned in my time there was impossible to explain. I was afraid to talk to the people who loved and supported me on my trip because I didn’t want to offend anyone. I know many people who have attempted to share Christ’s teachings to the world in a culturally-ignorant way. I have been one of those people. I apologize if you are reading this and I have hardened your heart from spirituality in any way. I apologize if you aren’t reading this and I have done so.

            Right before my stay in Africa, both Michael Brown and Eric Garner were killed at the hands of law enforcement. It didn’t hit me until I returned how much these events effected my time there. I became overwhelmed with my race and constantly aware of my ivory skin. I walked on the city streets repeatedly questioning, “who are the bad guys?” and “who are the good guys?” I built up a wall of defense around myself so that I was ready when commentary from passing Ugandans poked at my features and tried to start conversation with me, assuming they knew what kind of woman I was based on the images they have seen of white women in media. When I would see other white people in public, I would feel compelled to nod an affirmation saying “I understand”. What I didn’t realize is that I would return to Texas with a greater understanding of what my black brothers and sisters endure daily. In 1897, an extremely brilliant man named W.E.B Du Bois coined the term “double-consciousness” to explain the act of dividing one’s identity into different facades. He stated “It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self though the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity… He simply wishes to make it possible for a man to be both a Negro and an American without being cursed and spit upon by his fellows, without having the doors of opportunity closed roughly in his face.” I experienced this double-consciousness walking the streets of Uganda (albeit not to the extent that many Black Americans do) and upon my return, I related to my friends' struggles to assimilate while still remaining a rich individual. There is a constant struggle to let down the walls you have built without the fear of them tumbling on top of your already anxious soul.

            My writing here is neither political, nor is it unsupportive of any particular people group. It is to say that I learned compassion more than anything else in Uganda. I learned to hurt when the people I love are hurting, regardless of their uniform’s color. Everyday we encounter walls with people struggling behind them. My hope is that we might be strong enough relationally to break those walls down.

NEW ADVENTURES

            From time I returned to this past summer, I have been wrestling with my future. For some time I was applying for various worship leader positions at Houston churches. I have been leading part time with The Element at St. Peters UMC, working at a bookstore to save money, and struggling to feel content with my mind's direction. This past June, a team from St. Lukes United Methodist Church took a week long trip to support GO ministries in the Dominican Republic and I was presented with the opportunity to go with them and lead worship daily for the team.

            Due to my latest trip, the opportunity initially frightened me to the point that I almost didn’t go. However, I decided after much prayer and thought that I should embrace the adventure. The morning that I left for the DR I received a call from a church I had recently interviewed with. It was a job I was really hoping to take part in. They told me that they found someone else for the position largely due to the fact that the candidate had plenty of prior experience in the role. I understood, but I was upset. The whole week I was struggling with the loss of what, in my mind, I had created as my future. I continued to wonder where the path I was following was leading.

            The Dominican Republic was beautiful. The people were friendly and helpful, yet relaxed and laid back. The culture moves slowly and strives for greater things. GO Ministries has built many strong relationships with local leaders on the island in order to help them grow in their service to God and their community. They don’t step in and direct, but instead partner with the locals, using prior experience and education to guide the Dominican community toward a successful future. During the trip, I started to feel unrealistically comfortable in my environment. I was playing music and singing with local Dominicans, I was learning about people and a lifestyle I knew nothing about, and I was no longer afraid of whatever my future held. At the end of the week, multiple people on the trip began to tell me that I looked extremely comfortable in the Dominican culture and that maybe I should think about staying longer. I talked with some of the local leaders about the idea and we have decided that I will return from January to April of this coming year for an internship.

            As you can imagine, I’m quite nervous that my struggles in Uganda will reoccur in the DR. I’m afraid I will spend my whole trip fighting anxiety and culture shock and miss out on the beautiful adventures to be taken hold of.

           

THE IMPENDING FUTURE

            Since my trip to the Dominican Republic, I have been making lists and plans trying to figure out how to make all my big ideas happen. I moved back in with my parents to save money and began an internship with The Element at St. Peters to continue to gain experience in the general direction I feel headed. That direction has slowly shifted though, and I’ve decided to attend seminary and get a Masters of Divinity when I return from the DR.

            The idea of seminary has attracted me since I was in junior high. I know that a handful of you who read my blog posts don’t understand this drive due to the fallen and crooked state of many churches, but for strange reason I love the church however broken it may be. I have seen it build strong and open communities and help people get to and from dreaded doctors appointments. I have seen it embrace and build lasting friendships with the special needs community. The church has led me pursue healing and guidance in my anxiety, it has supported my artistic expression and writing, and it has given me a community of understanding people to go to when God feels dead inside of me. The church is broken, but it has so much potential. My eventual hope is to work to develop short-term and long-term mission trips so that they build up communities and cultures instead of harming them. I desire to work to expand the worship arts (whether it be music, photography, painting, writing) and help prevent the disintegration of local artistry. Simply, I desire that God would continue what he started when he created waterfalls and birds and sunsets and babies and NASCAR drivers and mystics and scientists and all the unknown creatures beneath the sea. Perhaps I’m an idealist, but it has worked for me so far.

That being said, for all of this to happen, for me not to back out too soon before I sense a coming comfort, for lives to be loved and churches to be changed, I’m going to need the support of anyone who has read to this point. I’m in need of prayer. I will try to sit down this week and make a list of specific anxieties that I feel I need to overcome. I will post them here and I ask that if you feel led to pray or encourage me in any of those ways, that you would not only pray but let me know you’re praying. I’d love to return the favor. If you feel specifically led to help by supporting me financially please get in touch with me personally through facebook (I’d really rather not come back from the DR completely broke but I am ready to do so). Please don’t give financially unless you are truly feeling led in that direction. Lastly, If you would like to support me and those options don’t suit your fancy, please don’t refrain from commenting/sharing. Ask questions about the journey I’m on and start conversations with me. Keep me thinking and working toward something important. I hope the “somethings” you’re working toward are important too.

I can’t begin to put into words how much I value each of you for taking the time to read this and for being interested.

You are my church.

You are a crucial member in making change.

Your own adventure awaits, whatever it may be.

MY THREE GIANT ISSUES WITH FACEBOOK CULTURE

A picture of me, sick and without makeup, sitting alone, at a computer, for an hour, writing this for you.

My Three Giant Issues With Facebook Culture

I thought about deleting Facebook.

I thought about blocking people.

I decided to post this instead.

1)It’s All an Illusion.

This is the issue everyone constantly recognizes but still lets it affect them. If you are under the age of 25 and complaining that you will never get married or have children, you have let this effect you. If you think that everyone is doing fun adventurous things while you sit bored on your couch, you have let this affect you. Everyone posts the most glamorous and fun parts of their life on social media. You, as a user, only receive the good parts of others lives while still going through your own not-so-ideal circumstances. This means you are giving yourself the constant burden of other peoples’ high points. They may be miserable, but they aren’t telling you.

Facebook has become a power struggle. You want to feel “right” or “cool” so you post something in order to receive affirmation about your opinions. Then you sit and stare at your phone as you let the likes roll in. If you receive enough likes, you feel affirmed. If you don’t, you don’t think anyone cares about this part of your life that you enjoyed or found humorous or interesting.  So then you start lying to yourself. You decide that you should post things that look cool or interesting to other people, things that may not have been good at all, but in order to get affirmation you give it a silly caption and wait.

Last week I posted a picture after I decorated my room. I got a bunch of response on social media, but really I just wanted someone to come over and talk to me in the space that I created. I didn’t feel the satisfaction of sharing coffee on my bed. I didn’t get to talk about why the things I put up on my wall were important to me. After people liked it, it was forgotten and I now know I should have just invited people over. I recognize that.

American culture has lost a lot of spirituality. It used to be that things would happen and people would see them as signs from God. Fate/karma/blessings would fall into our hands and we would recognize them. Even if people were wrong about what the events meant, they were allowed to backtrack and say “I was wrong” because they didn’t document it with hundreds of people on social media. I think we have replaced a bit of this spiritual thinking with the way we interact online. I put something out there not knowing who will see it. I trust that people will log on to their computers and look and understand. When I have a lot of people respond, I applaud myself for cleverness. When no one responds, I have been unsuccessful.

This isn’t real life. This really isn’t spiritual. Sometimes silence is exactly what I need in order to find clarity. Sometimes I need to feel lost or alone in order to allow myself to be free. Maybe I should be posting that I had horrible lice two months ago, lice that left me crying alone in my apartment. Lice that got me to call my Mom and drive home at midnight just so that I could have someone help me dump chemicals on my head and comb through my thick hair. Or maybe I should post that I threw up on stage at church last Sunday while singing the first song. I was and continue to be sick and congested and overwhelmed by my lack of movement and adventure. I feel unsuccessful because I sit and look at others successful moments all day. Maybe I should post these heavier things… not in a way that makes people laugh and applaud, but to say sometimes I feel broken as well. Where all my broken people at? That’s the kind of affirmation I could truly appreciate. And if I hear no response, I can simply be content with my confession and transparency.

2) Instant Gratification.

There is a man in Houston that I have come to know. Each week, he carves out some time to write letters to people all around the world. Somehow, he began writing me letters and I have been greatly moved by the exchange.  Today I sat down to write to him. I let him know about my big and frightening plans for this next year. I talked about my dreams and the things that make me feel like I can fly. I told him my favorite color for the first time and I thanked him for his commitment to reach out to others. Then, I spent way too long addressing the envelope, writing his name in multiple pens, and putting a stamp on it. I put a leash on my dog and walked barefoot out to the mailbox. I dipped the corner of the letter in some rainwater that had just fallen to the ground moments before. I went from tiptoeing on the side of the street to pausing for a moment so that Holly could relieve herself on my neighbor’s lawn. I carefully placed the card in the mailbox and pushed it in so that it had settled. Then I waited uncomfortably for a moment. The fact that I was not hearing back right away really bothered me then. I wanted an instant response. Don’t get me wrong, I love sending letters, but it is a definite exercise of my patience and will. It means that I have to think fondly of someone who is not present with me at the moment, whose name doesn’t pop up on my computer screen through some algorithm. I have to be intentional about sitting down with paper and pen (or typewriter in some cases). I must carefully address and package the letter, make a trip to the mailbox, and put it in. Most importantly, I must wait for a response. This is a lost art. Email, text, Facebook is great. Calling on the phone is fantastic; but sitting down and meditating on your friendship with another person for 30 minutes can change your relationship. I hope to become much better at this.

3)The Wall of Social Anxiety is Broken Down

This one is the hardest for me seeing as I am an introvert who struggles with anxiety. For those of you who know me, you know that I tend to be quite unvocal about political matters. I rarely pick a side. Being born into a mostly liberal Canadian atmosphere and moving to the suburbs of Houston where conservatism reigns strong taught me to be quiet and listen. I honestly understand both sides. Both ways are right in different contexts. Facebook has been full of political standpoints for me lately. People spouting off what they think is most important. They think that they will change the world by letting people know what they think. People like me sift through the posts from biased sites to fall upon actual information. Because people aren’t afraid to post anything, my anxiety is heightened. You might say “Alison, just unfriend the people who are posting such outlandish statements”, but I care about people too much. It’s not that I don’t want to hear people’s opinions. It’s that I want to talk about them in person over a beer. I want to have dinner with you and hear how you are and what you think; but instead of that, next time I see you I will be afraid to talk to you because I was an immigrant once.

This is all just to say be careful out there. Although it is new and important and good, like all good things, it can be dangerous and harmful. Don’t post things you wouldn’t share over coffee in public. Don’t believe everything you see and hear. Call people to meet in your bedroom that you carefully decorated. Write letters to people you miss. Don’t forget that in order for people to post things on the internet, that means they had to sit by themselves at a computer or a phone and take time in solitude to do so.

I thought about deleting Facebook.

I thought about blocking people.

I decided to post this instead.

Be careful, be loved, and know that if you are ever feeling burdened (whether I know you well or not) that I am here to listen, pray, and understand the frustrations of the world alongside you.

Thanks for reading

Trying to dig up the gifts that I've buried.

Not to be boastful, but I was raised to be quite modest.
I rarely talk about myself in a promotional manner and I have trouble sharing big things that are going on in my life... even with the people closest to me. I soon forget about them after they happen because I don't talk about them, and quickly I forget what initially stirred me emotionally. 
That being said, I've kind-of done the same thing with this blog. I should be better about talking about myself, but I start to tell myself that I'm being whiney or obnoxious and I put the computer away.

I have trouble receiving compliments as well. I never thought this to be true until I started sharing my music with people and realized that I didn't believe them when they said I had a good voice or that I had written a great song. I thought they were being nice. It always sort of ended there. I would forget that I had written a song I was proud of and I would wonder why none of my well developed and thought up projects ever took off. I stopped sharing things and became a hoarder of my art. I would write mass amounts of poetry and songs, and the only people I would share it with were two beautiful friends who lived in a different country. I took their compliments, but I kept all of them at an arms length. I thought "maybe if I sing for these friends that I love and respect (and that live really far away), then I will become comfortable singing for everyone". But that wasn't the case and I still have trouble standing up with a guitar and playing my songs for people. I still feel inadequate and undeserving of attention, and I still don't let people see my gifts because I am afraid that their compliments are true.

Art is not easy to make. Whether it is painting, writing, singing, or acting; it is an emotionally exhausting exercise (not to mention expensive to market). I've hit the point in my creative process where I'm worn out. I'm not saying that I have writers block or that I am not creating anything. I'm actually writing more than I ever have before. I've written at least one poem every day for the last month. I've written three songs in the last week. The issue is that no one knows... and that I don't know how to tell them. When I finish a song or a poem, I want to show it to everyone. I want them to smile and dance and say "wow, that moved me". I want them to react because I've exhausted myself making it. On the other hand though, what if I get the attention I seek? What if they are right about what I make and they decide they want more? 

What if their compliments are true?

Then I will have to be vulnerable and make more music. Then I will have to pour myself deeper and deeper into my poetry because they may show more people what I make. This is not intrinsically negative, but it is exhausting. 

What if the compliments are true, and I pour myself out, and then the reactions stop?

Will I be alright with creating if no one cares anymore? Will I feel unheard and unappreciated? Will I create for creations sake like I did at first, just to explore something new and colorful... just to feel newness in the wrinkles of my hands. Just to say "This is good" to myself?

When God created everything, did he want more the way that I am aching for it right now? Didn't he want to share it with someone? He created a variety of people just so that they could join him in chanting "It is good". He took the compliments and when he saw that people didn't recognize his art, when he saw that people didn't recognize what he made for them, he said "I want to understand where you are coming from so that I can make more, just for you". 

I feel the frustration of God. I understand what he must feel when people drive past a field of flowers and instead of opening their windows to smell them, they open their window to flick off their neighboring car. I feel in my core that I was created to mimic The Lord's creating heart. Right now, that heart is aching for someone to listen to it beating. Its music is for the listener. 



I had a good friend of mine give me his memoir to read. I was in a phase of life where my attention span was shot, and I couldn't sit down for half a second to read anything. I read it anyway though, because I respected this friend and I was intrigued to learn more about him through his writing. I flew through the memoir with ease because I was reading about a friend. I was reading someones heart. With every book I have picked up since, I have approached it the same way. I have become dear friends with the writer through the process of reading. I have been moved by every sentence because I understand that it was written to be read by my eyes. It was written to be a vulnerable expression of life. Its words are a connection from one beating heart to another.

I have not thought out this post as well as I normally do. It was more cathartic than anything, but I really feel as though I need to make a declaration:
I am going to honor my gifts better. 
I am going to let myself be seen and heard and read. 
I am going to share my stories and poems and songs without fear of silence, because that is what God does. 
I am sorry if in the future I annoy you with my art. 
I will share with you what He has given me; 
because he has shared with me, and I am overflowing with reverence.



That being said. I am really thinking about self publishing a book of poems for the church. God is calling art back into the church and I want to be a part of answering this call. This will not be an easy feat and I am prepared for the battle, but I need your help. I need support, I need encouragement, and I need a lot more faith in what I have been gifted in. Please let me know if you have any interest in this book. It won't happen unless I am sure that it will sell.

Thanks for reading,
I'd love to hear your thoughts.

-Alison

You have the constitution of the constellations
if they were multiplied four-score.
And we breathe them in as you breathed them out before.

O Maker
O Creator
from dust to dust again.
But though our world is a speck in your eye,
you've made it your delicate plan.

Let us cast ourselves upon the colors
of the coral in your sea of grace,
and endlessly pursue
the ageless rivets in your face.

"Blessed" vs. Privileged

I want to start out this post by giving you all an update and then I will let you know about what I've been learning here in Uganda.

First of all, I meant to post sooner than this but I found myself with internet and in need of more so I had to wait until the store was open and until I had the courage to go by myself and buy some more. Everything here seems to be a fight for courage for me. No matter what I do, I have to muster up some scap of courage to go out and do it. I suppose that this is true everywhere, but it is especially true here where I don't know the culture and I stick out immensely. Aside from gaining courage, it's also just hard to proccess things when there is constantly so many new experiences going on around you.

This past two weeks were interesting. I got to work with some special needs children which made me incredibly happy! At the beginning of last week I went to a special needs nursery school called Small Steps in Buwenda, a village outside of Jinja. I had met Cat, the woman who runs it, before and she agreed to meet me there. She sent a boda-boda driver to come and pick me up from the apartment in the morning because I didn't know where the school was. When I got out of the gate to the apartment, a boda driver came up on his motorcycle and said "Alison, get on!". I suspiciously asked him if he knew where I was going and he gave me the Ugandan nod and complimentary eyebrow lift to signify that he did. I climbed on his motorcycle and he drove off. We got two blocks away and he stopped at a corner and said "which way?". I was furious. I said " YOU LIED TO ME! TAKE ME BACK TO THE BANK!". He took me back and before I got off, I sternly said " You do not pick up people like that!". Waiting at the bank was my actual boda driver, Charles. Cat's boyfriend was waiting there with him. I hopped on and we rode towards the village where the school is located.

As soon as I got there, I was met by many "you are welcome"s and a small child grabbing to hold my hand. Cat gave me a tour of the facility before leaving me to teach the children in the class. There were four children in the special needs class that day. Cat told me that there are seven all together but some of them can't get transportation and some of them come only a couple of times a term.

Two of the kids in the special needs class were deaf. Their names were Eshraf and Shifrat. They both have very similar features and were wearing the same yellow uniform, so I had some trouble telling them apart. Cat told me that Shifrat is more social than Eshraf. Most of the time, these two were off with another teacher, but I did get a chance to interact with them for a little while. Neither of them vocalize much and they don't know Ugandan Sign-language either, so I tried to get them to speak up more. I took Eshraf's hand and placed in on my throat so that he could feel it vibrate when I talk. I hummed different pitches with his hand on my throat and then moved it onto his throat so that he could try. It got him making lots of new noises which was encouraging to me and made the other instructors in the room giggle.

The other two children were Destiny and Peace (or Mirembe). Peace was very sweet. She was always asking me to sit next to her and attempting to be carried and get hugs. She had an easygoing quality about her as long as she was getting all the attention.

Destiny is an amazing little boy who is on the autism spectrum. As soon as he met me he was grabbing my arm and welcoming me to the school. Cat and I went into the office to discuss some of the childrens' files and Destiny came along. As we talked, he continuously pushed the office chair so that it would spin around in circles. At this point, I still wasn't sure whether Destiny was a boy or a girl because of the red skirt he was sporting. Cat told me that he recently got a circumcision so he had to wear a skirt. She said that it is fairly common in Uganda to do it at that age. Cat told me that her boyfriend remembers the procedure and crying for days. He says that his family decided to either get it done at a younger age or not at all with the rest of their children because of his reaction. Destiny was very rambunctious the whole day andd Cat said that he has been kind of unruly since the procedure... I suppose I can understand why. I tried to teach Destiny to match pictures. I attempted to get him to put the laminated bus picture on the other laminated bus, and to put the laminated boda picture on the other laminated boda. Just when I thought he was understanding he would flop down onto the floor and lie there. I grabbed his arm and he sat up until I let go of him. As soon as my hand would leave his arm, he would flop down again. I told him "you sit up now" and he got up for a couple seconds. At this point I realised that maybe sitting was a better lesson to be learned. In America when children have special needs, many of the parents have access to therapy, books, articles and other information about how to help their children succeed in social settings. Here, I would assume, that if the child lies down, they don't take the second to get him to do things on his own. Instead, what I observed from the other teachers, is that they stand him up by their own strength. I was affirmed, while working with Destiny, in the fact that learning can be a slow proccess that requires a lot of patience. 

Sadly, the boda driver I took to get to Small Steps did not pick up his phone later so I wasn't able to go back, even though I enjoyed it so thuroughly. No one else knew where the nurery school was and I didn't know directions to get there and didn't want to risk it by telling them to go in the correct direction and getting lost.

Later in the week, I went to Ekisa special needs orphanage. It was very different from my other experiences in Jinja because of the efficiency in the way the orphanage conducts itself. They have a well developed program and a lot of volunteers that come in and work there. 

Very quickly after I arrived at the orphanage, I was handed a sweet boy by the name of Josh. He has hydrocephalus and has trouble supporting his head. At first I cradled him because I didn't know his limits and I tried to get him to play with blocks with me, but he kept looking very uncomfortable and unhappy. A timer went off which signaled that everyone was switching to a new activity. Josh and I went to sensory where we sat down in a small homemade ball pit. I decided to try and see if Josh could stand up if I supported him under his arms. As soon as he stood, a huge smile formed on his face and he was lit up with laughter. It was amazing the difference that it made. I think he was feeling babied by me when I was holding him as such, but when I stood him up, it's like he aged two years right in front of me. I met many adorable children at Ekisa and got to encourage them, teach them, and feed them. When I left Ekisa, I got my boda driver to drop me off at Akola Project where I made necklaces with a beautiful woman names Sensa who told me about her four children.

This last week I committed myself to Jinja Connection, the organization for street kids. As I walked into the class room there were new faces that I had never seen. Little Esa, an eight year old that I have seen every time I have visited, looked up from his picture book and said my name with a big smile on his face. I sat down and read books with the boys. That day, I taught a boy who is about nine years old named Ashraf. We worked on learning capital and lower case (small) letters. Compared to the other two boys that I had taught there, he was very quick. He listened and tried very hard to do his best. I made sure to soak it all in because I knew that once one of the more frustrating kids came back, Rachel was going to give them to me to work with. 

At one point the kids went outside to have an active time. Normally we play a game called "in the pool out of the pool", but Rachel brought out the jump rope, gave an end to Wesswa, and started turning. They started out just jumping, then trying to make it through the alphabet in the middle on one foot, then playing another game that really confused me. After, we all went back inside for more class. At lunch time I talked with one of the teachers named Myko. I asked him what Wesswa's name meant (most of the ugandan names have been chosen for their meaning). He told me that it meant "first twin" and that normally the younger twin is given the name Kato. I asked Myko where his twin was and he said that he was probably dead. "Oh" I thought out loud, "Do you think it would be hard having your name's definition be a reminder that your twin has died?" Myko said, "It's not the same here. People do not take weeks off of work after a loved one has died. It is not a big deal. They wake up the next morning, get dressed, and go to work because they must. People die all the time." I guess I always knew that this was true, but it hit me a lot harder coming out from someone's mouth. I live a very priviledged life.

On Friday, I went to Jinja Connection again. In the morning, after breakfast, all of the boys went out to the nearby field to play soccer. I decided to join in on the fun and play defense. I watched as every single child ran toward the ball. They are all very good despite their age, but there isn't too much formula to go along with what they do. I later asked Myko if he had ever tried to teach them positions and zones. He rolled his eyes as he said "Soooooo many times. It never works". As I was playing, I looked up for a moment and set my eye upon something like 50 birds, most of them marabou storks, floating in majestic circles in the air. The birds here seem to enjoy floating in the distant sky in whirpool fashion. It is one of the most amazing and overlooked parts of nature in Jinja.

After playing soccer for half an hour, I decied that I would stand behind the goal and watch the boys and the birds move around in circles. As I stepped to the side, the birds started settling down from the sky into the tops of the trees surrounding the field. It made me feel like I was one of them.

After soccer, we all went inside and I was allowed to lead the rest of the mornings activities. I decided on two of my favorite games and we all sat in a circle with some desks pushed together between us. The idea of the first game is that one person in the circle starts with a rhythm and then the next person adds onto it until everyone has joined in. I think the boys really enjoyed the fact that they were allowed to be loud and crazy. We played a couple of times until it started to get out of hand. Then we went outside for the next activity. As the boys filed outside, many of them were continuing to make noises; most of them with a loon call as their noise of choice. Outside, I tought them a nonsense game called Togi-Togi that we play at Camp Blessing in the summer. Normally, the game is conflict free. People mess up and they back out of the game, but with the boys it turned into a game of call-outs and tattling. We played three times and then decided to stop because they were getting frustrated. They then asked Rachel if I could give them a dance lesson. One of the boys, Louis, was doing the wave with his arms in the morning and I joined in. I think he thought that meant I was a very experienced  break dancer. Anyway, they kept asking me to teach them dance moves and after I exhauted myself of all my hiphop knowledge, I taught them some ballet. They were really awful at ballet.

My cousin, Erica, came back this weekend which makes me happy because she is good company. I stayed up on Friday night until the early hours of the morning waiting up for her because she didn't have her key. Now I am overcoming jet lag with her (I woke up later than I wanted to this morning). 

I have recently found a boda driver who knows where the special needs nursery is, so I am excited to say that I plan on going back there this week. I think I will start rotating between there and Jinja Connection. I feel like those are the two places in which my help is going the furthest.

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Finally, I want to share something that has become more obvious to me while I have been studying the culture here and learning more about myself. I've started to realize that many of the things that I thought were helping my quality of life in Texas were actually hindering it. 

There is that story in the bible about the rich man asking Jesus how to get into heaven. Jesus tells him that he must give away everything and give it to the poor. I'm starting to realize how hard that is. I have been raised from birth with a certain cultural subconscious. I am white, therefore very rarely have I had to think about my race. I was raised in a family that taught me to manage money, therefore I have rarely had to learn or worry about financial things. I have always had a grocery store, therefore I have never had to worry about finding ingredients from various vendors in order to make things from scratch. Plumbing has always been there, therefore I have never had to walk miles in order to pump water from a well. 

I have heard so many people say "I am so blessed that I live life with such convenience". I am learning that my God is not a God of convenience. Yes, sometimes His way is easy, but most of the time the harder path teaches you so much more and builds character in an unbelievable fashion.

Now, I'm not trying to say that going to the grocery store is wrong, and I'm definitely not trying to glorify anything that I am doing here as if it is so incredibly fantastic, because honestly it's HARD! What I am trying to say is that convenience shuts our souls down. I think that part of the reason I am always so anxious in Houston is the fact that my soul becomes bored. I have this adventurous heart that doesn't ever get stimulated. I don't get to walk down the street in fear and come home feeling like I accomplished something by going to the bank or by getting groceries. It is normally just another exhausting task that I must mindlessly do by the end of the day. But what if we started opening our eyes to the adventure around us no matter where we are. What if we started looking into people's eyes and seeing THEM and not just their shell. 

I'm starting to wonder if Jesus was telling the rich man to give up his money, or if he was telling him to give up everything: his ideas about what life is, his comfort, his friendships, his family, his understanding of the world around him. The rich man was not blessed with wealth. The rich man was priviledged.

As I'm preparing for my last few weeks here in Uganda, this is what I'm preparing to focus on. I have trouble living life here with the Ugandans because I have been educated in a completely different way. I know that if I eat their meals every day I will become incredibly sick. I know that if I walk with them, my feet will blister and I won't be able to walk tomorrow. I am learning that I am in a place where my education holds me back from life. My understanding keeps me from understanding. I have not allowed myself to be blessed by God in many facets of my life. I have only been priviledged, and the world has convinced me that "priveledged" is synonymous to "blessed"... But it isn't. It holds you back immensely.

That being said, don't think that you must give away everything and move away to be blessed. But know that being thrown out of your comfort zone helps you realize what is truly helping you and what is truly hindering you. Let yourself become uncomfortable. Look for adventure and newness. Give yourself away. Be blessed.

All Things Work Together

So the last time I wrote, I was feeling discouraged and fearing my adventure more than embracing it here in Uganda. This weekend I decided to dip my toes into other options and test the waters of Jinja.

     One of my cousin's friends runs a program called Jinja Connection. A large problem here in Jinja is the fact that there are many kids who are living on the street. A great number of the children end up there because of unstable conditions at home, inability to pay school fees, falling in with a bad crowd, or a desire for money and freedom. There are many extenuating circumstances that contribute to the issue, but even more problems arise once the children are out of school and on the street. A fair number of the children begin drinking and sniffing paraffin. They become addicted and this effects them further. Most of the children have also learned to collect scrap and sell it for small change. Allison, the director of Jinja Connection, says that she once watched one of the children sell back plastic bottles. She watched as he put them all onto the scale to be weighed, and once they were all weighed, the boy pulled a rubber boot out of the pile without the buyer noticing and slipped it back onto his foot. The boot added extra weight to the pile so that the boy would get payed more. That being said, these boys have been on the streets long enough to learn the tricks. They know how to get by... but no child at the age of 8 should be "getting by".

     To attend the program at Jinja Connection, the children must arrive in the morning. They are provided with the means to take a shower, wash their clothes, and are given a cup or porridge. Later in the day they will have class, lunch is provided to them, and then they do activities in the afternoon. If they do not come on time in the morning, they are locked out and are unable to attend any of the days activities or receive food. This keeps the children accountable for their actions and encourages them to stay sober and attend class.

     On Monday I had the opprotunity of going to Jinja Connection to experience the program. When I arrived, the boys were washing their clothes. One of the teachers, Myko, gave me a tour of the facility and told me more about the program. Allison, the director, took me to Masese where many of the children in the program come from. Masese, which is considered the slums of Jinja, is where many of the resettled children from the program go to school. We went to pay their school fees. Allison told me that many of their children are top of their class despite their circumstance. 

     When we got back to Jinja Connection, I worked with a boy named Ivan to help him learn the alphabet in English. He is about twelve or thirteen and has been living as a street child since he was six or seven. Allison explained to me that Ivan's mother was a prostitute and there would be many men circulating through their home when he was young. She believes that he endured a large amount of abuse at home which drove him to leave and live on the street. Ivan was one of the first children that they had in the program who had a sniffing problem. He will go on binges where he goes from regularly   attending the program to coming to the facility high at lunch and crying at the gate because he can't come in. When I was working with him, it was really eye opening. There were so many things that I had to explain to him that I initially assumed were second nature. For example, I wrote the numbers from 1 to 30 on a piece of paper. When I wrote the number nine, ten dropped down to the next line where the sequence continued. When I asked him what number came after 9, he couldn't give me an answer because he didn't understand that in order to continue the sequence, he had to look at the begining of the next line. Children in America are taught, through reading stories with their family, that the next line continues what the previous line is stating. He was never read to as a child and has never attended school. There was never any means for him to learn that.

     Yesterday, Tuesday, I went back to Jinja Connection and worked with Ivan again. I was attempting to teach him the english words for numbers but he could not pay attention. It was like he was in a fog and couldn't see or hear anything that I was doing or saying. He had most likely been awake all night. It didn't help that I was speaking English instead of Luganda (his native language).

     There are so many sweet children here that are in poor circumstance. It can be overwhelming to think about, but if you look at the fact that they are striving daily to be successful and to make a life for themselves it is actually amazing. I am not surprised that they are the smartest kids in their classes. These children are more resourceful and motivated than any children I have ever encountered. Of course they make poor decisions- they are children! However, the reasons for their decisions are issues that many adults in America haven't even had to deal with.

     Pray for these children that hold so much potential and brightness. Pray that they would continue to strive for a better and more stable life.

     If you want to learn more, here is the website for Jinja Connection:  http://ugandastreetkids.org/jinja-connection/

     Today, I was going to go to Home of Hope. It is a home for special needs children that was started by a Ugandan woman. She gave birth to a son who developed menengitis and suffered severe brain damage from the sickness. After meeting many others who had their own children with disabilities, she decided to start a home to help support these children. The plans were set for me to go with some other people, but last night we heard news that the woman's son has passed away. The burial service was today, so we decided to postpone that trip. 

     Today my cousin, Erica, is leaving for two weeks to visit her friends and family in Canada. This means that I have lost my housemate and my tourguide. I feel a lot more comfortable in my environment now and my neighbors all work with Erica at Akola, so that makes me feel more at peace. We went on a grocery run this morning so the fridge is full of food and I won't need to take another trip to the shops for a couple of days.

     I will keep you all updated on other happenings to come. Thanks for all of your prayers and support. Knowing that there are people back home caring for me and my passions makes being at peace here so much easier.

As the rising sun smears itself upon the water's surface,

And the shops crouch on the road like colored clothing on a line to dry,

I think, "O how could I have been so wrong about the world-

All along."

  If you have any questions or comments and are having trouble leaving them on this site, please email me at alisoncpatrick@gmail.com

Thank You Thank You!

- Alison

What Fear Keeps You From

     If you read my last post, I talked at the end about how my ideas for my trip here didn't work out a planned. I thought I had everything set in stone upon my departure from Houston, but God likes to shift and break the earth sometimes and we can do very little to stop it; however, most times, He makes beautiful landscapes out of what he changes.

     I've spent the last week and a half trying to come up with new plans. It's a difficult proccess to get in touch with organizations with no prior notion about how they conduct themselves, but it's an exercise of trusting that my passions line up with God's passions and that He will work all things out. Speaking of God working things out, I have already heard back from a special needs home and a street kids organization- both welcoming me in and providing me with the opprotunity to volunteer. I will be visiting the street kids project on monday to see how they work. It will be something very new and exciting for me (as most things here in Jinja are). It will also be very scary to jump into things so uncomfortably and blindly.

     Fear is something I have had to fight constantly here in Uganda. The culture moves in such a different way than I am used to. Because I am white, people assume that I can throw around money like it is nothing. They will also take most things that I say as fact regardless of who I am or what credentials I have. There is also a large amount of corruption here. It has been sewn into the society to a point where lying is not bad, it is just a way of testing your luck. I have been raised with a mindset that assumes everyone is telling the truth to me when I ask basic questions. Here, people are skeptical that everyone is trying to trick eachother so they practice this same trickery to get by. To me, it is terrifying- to them, it is normal and no one sees the fault in it. There are lines that society draws when it comes to corruption, but the problem is that I do not know these lines. I have not been trained to understand what is good and what is bad in this society so I am always on my guard. I am constantly aware that my skin color might as well be glow in the dark. There is no mental rest outside of my room.

     I went to the supermarket on my own the other day to pick up some groceries and, sadly, It was probably one of the scariest experiences of my life. No, I was not in any danger whatsoever, but I was on my guard the whole time and well-aware that I stood out. Sometimes we create fear in our minds to keep ourselves out of unknown danger. Sometimes fear is useful, and sometimes it goes too far. 

     In all honesty, I am very tempted to stay home all day so that I don't have to go through that again. I know that I came here to get out of my comfort zone and learn more about what God does, so that is what I need to do. My good friend named Sunset told me to "always choose adventure", so that is what I am trying to do. Even when I fear the worst, even when I wouldn't normally jump onto a motorcycle with a stranger in America, even when I don't know where the child's hands have been, I must always trust the God who made this world and I must always choose to love.

I must do

What I cannot do

with what I do not have.

I must trust

Those I cannot trust

With a trust I do not have

I must love

Those I cannot love

With a love I do not have

I must serve

Those I cannot serve

With a servant's heart I do not have.

I must try

To do with God

What he could do alone.

Thank you all for reading this and supporting me! Please continue to pray for me to feel comfortable. I am going to make a point of writing posts more often (However, I can't promise that they will be well thought out). 

You are all the best.

If you have any questions or comments and are having trouble leaving them on this site, please email me at alisoncpatrick@gmail.com

-Alison

Two Birds of a Feather: A Cross-cultural Comparison.

     I remember the UNICEF commercials from when I was younger quite vividly. They would start out with a man walking through an African village. He would be talking about poverty and about how no one in the village had food to eat, or a bed to sleep on, or even shoes to cover their dirty and cracking feet. I remember being mesmerized as I watched the man proceed to approach sad looking orphan children and set them on his knee. The child would stare through the screen and into my young eyes, and I would sit dumbfounded and wondering how I got lucky enough to be blessed with my house and food and family. My parents would always try to change the channel but I would insist that the infomercial is what I wanted to watch.

     I think that these moments held my first understandings of sympathy and empathy.

     For the first week that I was here in Jinja, Uganda, my dad came to join me, help me settle in, and try his luck at catching a Nile perch. We got to do some really beautiful things together. We did end up fishing in the nile but failed to reel one in. Dad said we had an unprofessional fishing guide: I'm still not convinced that those giant fish we had heard about in tales are real.

     While my dad was here, we also got to help with taking pictures and interviewing the village women for an Akola Project marketing campaign. As I have been in Jinja, I have had the opprotunity to learn so much about missions and Akola's mission specifically. They hire women in Uganda who have endured many hardships and provide them with an opprotunity to rise above their circumstance. The women in the village are sold paper, fishing wire, and varnish, and they are asked to roll beads. When Akola comes back to collect the beads, the women are paid for their work and given more supplies. This gives the women a steady income and allows for them to consistantly pay for their children's schooling and buy items like bicycles to get water and food, mattreses (instead of grass mats) to sleep on, covers to sleep under, bricks to build sustainable housing, etc. The beads that are collected go to the city of Jinja where they are strung onto necklaces by other Ugandan women.

     All the women who are hired by Akola work hard and take pride in the fact that they are now a part of the working class. There is so much hope in their future and they are no longer trying to make ends meet. They are planning a future for their families and positively effecting their communities in the proccess.

     When my father and I went to take pictures, Akola asked us to emphesize the success stories of the women and their communities. They wanted the world to see the wonder in the women's eyes and the fact that these ladies now see what planning and hard work can do to make their lives easier. I have been thinking a lot about those old UNICEF commercials and questioning how charity effects the lives of the reciever. I can see vividly that part of the reason Akola stirs success in these women's lives is because they feel pride in their work. They see that their positive actions create positive reactions and are then inclined to continue their good works. My cousin says that Toms shoes sometimes comes to Uganda and does shoe drops. She says that people would rather not wear the shoes though, because they are seen as a "poor man's shoe". I know that many people buy Toms thinking that they are giving a gift to someone else, but receiving the shoes feels like pity to the receiver and emphesises the fact that they have less than the giver. By teaching someone to make their own shoes with local materials and sell shoes to their neighbors, you would instead be helping that person value their life and abilities. You would be showing them that they are capable.

    

     My dad and I also got the opprotunity to go on a safari. It was breathtaking to see animals roaming in their natural states and interacting with one another. We saw elephants, giraffes, water buffalo, rhinos, and hippos up close. I got to see the wrinkles in their skin and hear the sound of their tails whipping against their backs. It was all so unbelievable, yet my favorite part of the safari was the birds.

     I've had a strange facination with birds for the past year. It rattles me to think about the many times giant flocks of birds have decided to fly right over my head during the times I have needed it most. Birds have been a physical representation of peace for me: a reminder that the things I am anxious about will fade. What amazes me specifically about the birds in Uganda are their color. When i first arrived in Jinja, I noticed how many birds were around me and it gave me comfort to think that although I was in a new culture and an uncomfortable place, I would always be reminded of God's peace. However, it wasn't until I went to the roof of Akola's building that I realized the colors of the birds. Jinja is filled with birds that look brown or grey or black at first but are actually clothed in bright yellows and purples and reds. I found myself looking closer at every little pigeon, crow, and starling to seek out the colors on its back. There was a point during the safari when I had my upper torso sticking out of the sunroof. I gazed around me and realized that I had rainbows of color flashing past me in every direction. I looked to my right just as an amazing African Bee-eater was soaring alongside our car. I threw my arms out and flew with him.

     The birds in Uganda remind me of the people here. When I took pictures in the village, I met a beautiful woman named Tito Tappy. She invited me into her home with pride, eager to show me what she had accomplished through her hard work. I could have walked into her home and seen it as brown. The ground was made of dirt, the walls were made of dirt, there was no electricity or plumbing, her children had clothes on that were too big for them, and she had clothing hanging all around the small room that all 6 members of her family sleep in. Instead, I looked at how beautifully Tito's eyes lit up when she talked about her hope. She sweeps her floor daily to keep it clean, she is collecting bricks to build a permenant home, she just bought some new metal sheets to roof her home and keep the rain out, the light shines beautifully through the door of her house, her children now have more than one  outfit to wear and they have clothing to grow into. There are so many beautiful things happening here. I understand how a person can be torn about the poverty in Uganda. When someone in their families gets sick, when something traumatic happens, it is so much harder for the women here to make things come back together; but I cannot deny the fact the the people here embrace life with a stronger grip. They fall to their knees and weep when they worship. They curl over and laugh with no fear or shyness. They rejoice with dance and song. They live in a bright and colorful way.

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     There are a lot of things happening here that I would like to write about but there isn't enough time to touch on everything. I did go to the other organization that I was interested in on Wednesday. They work to educate children around the villages. I went and volunteered with them for a day, but I'm not sure that I will go back. It is not that anything specific happened while I was there; I just don't feel peace about it and I think that I may explore volunteering at other schools and orphanages and see where I feel most needed. 

     

     When I first got to the village to volunteer they gave me a tour of their educational facility. While a man namied Jims was walking me around, I heard a loud scream come from behind me. I turned around and there was a young boy about twenty yards away from us with a big mischeveous grin on his face. It was obvious to me that he had a disability by the way he composed himself. He held his arms up with his wrists close to his shoulders, and he walked slowly toward us in a semi-crouching position. However, I think that the fact that clued me in the most was that he wasn't wearing pants and he was covered in dirt. While he was shuffling towards us, Jims told me the boy's name is John and although he looks like he was 9, he is actually 18. He said that when John was born, his parents were afraid for the people of the village to see their son, so they locked him in the house for much of his life. Then one day, by the grace of God, his parents forgot to lock the door and John escaped smiling and screaming with joy. Because he spent much of his life confined to a room, he was severly crouching as he ran out of his home and he scared all of the village with his scream and his composure. Because of his escape, now the village knows who he is and he is free to roam around as the other children do. By this time, John was standing next to Jims and I. I held out my hand for him to hold and he grabbed onto it. He reached down and grabbed a handful of rocks and gave them to me. I put the rocks back on the ground after I slipped one into my backpack as a keepsake. 

     Although I fell in love with John, the volunteer work I did there did not feel like a good atmosphere for me. I will continue to pray and search for a new special needs ministry to get connected with here in Jinja. My cousin says she knows some people who work with special needs children, so hopefully I will get to talk to them soon about what they do specifically and where I can get involved.

     Thank you to everyone who has been praying for me and sending positive vibes in this direction. The love of my community at home is overwhelming and your support keeps me motivated even though I'm not ever entirely sure what I am doing here. I love you all for reading this as well.

If you have any questions or comments and are having trouble leaving them on this site, please email me at alisoncpatrick@gmail.com

Photo by Bill Patrick