Story from InRoads Magazine

RRU student finds mentors and teachers in Uganda

(to see the story with pictures click on this link to the Royal Roads University website)

Bruce Passmore is completing his Masters in Human Security and Peacebuilding (HSPB) at RRU and spent seven months in northern Uganda working with a development organization helping women and youth rebuild their communities after 22 years of conflict.

Passmore's participation was supported by the Canadian International Development Agency and the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council.

by Bruce Passmore

I was invited to attend the Pader Peace Forum in Pader District, northern Uganda, May 2009, as part of my internship with Peace For All INTERNATIONAL.

The purpose of the forum, which brought together many participants from all over Uganda, was to celebrate peace in this formerly war-torn region and to highlight the district’s successes in making people feel more secure.

Pader District was the site of some of Uganda's most severe violence during the 22-year conflict between government forces and the Lord’s Resistance Army. Unfortunately, even after the fighting stopped in 2007, the suffering continued.

Speaking with local villagers - particularly women and youth - I heard that for many, peace is still a distant dream. Marginalized women - including widows and women with disabilities along with others who had been abducted and forced to become child soldiers or soldiers’ brides - still fear the night and the sounds of gunshots and screaming still ring in their ears. They continue to face domestic violence, discrimination, poverty and ongoing trauma. Until the structural and psycho-social needs of their communities are met, they say that they won’t feel secure and there won’t be peace.

At the Pader Peace Forum, there were many speeches. Politicians and officials congratulated themselves and emphasized how wonderful things are now that the fighting has stopped.

Peace groups spoke about what was working and what the people of Pader should focus on in the future.

Women were denied a voice

I soon noticed, to my consternation, that all the speakers, guests of honour, MCs, and even the English-Luo translator, were men. Women were only included in the entertainment portion - to sing and dance for the audience. Despite suffering the brunt of the conflict’s effects, women had been denied a voice at the peace forum.

One group of women, though - the Grassroots Women’s Coalition - was not content to let this be. Denied a voice, they planned to use their musical performance to make a statement everyone at the forum would hear.

As they danced and sang, the women carried signs which read Men! Make a commitment to never be violent on women or Change your attitudes towards us, we are all equal or Equal sharing of responsibilities is what we need.

After their performance they took over the microphone and gave a compelling speech in Luo, the local language, about how women bear the largest burden in post-conflict Pader and yet they are excluded from most government programs, support networks and decision-making opportunities.

__________

With the help of these mentors, I have come to understand that peace and human security are inextricably linked and that peace does not exist simply because the emergency phase is over.

__________


When they were done, the MC took back the microphone and thanked them for the speech, saying it was too bad the speech couldn’t be translated for all the non-Luo speakers in the crowd because the translator had ‘stepped out’.

The women took back the microphone and said, “Don’t worry, we brought our own translator,” and repeated the entire speech in English for the officials from outside the district.

Their power and conviction were infectious and inspiring.

These are the women of Pader, whose resilience and strength helped them survive the conflict and now fuel their commitment to rebuild their communities. These are the women I began working with during my internship with Peace For All INTERNATIONAL, the women who became my teachers, my mentors.

Peace does not exist simply because emergency is over

Together we created the Women’s Governance and Peacebuilding Project and the Youth Empowerment Project. The goals of these projects are to support and facilitate the women and youth of the district of Pader so that they can:

- gain governance authority and economic stability;

- take part in development and peacebuilding processes; and

- reduce the propensity of people to engage in violent or risky behaviours (e.g., drugs, alcohol, crime, etc.) as a response to trauma and stress


If you would like to assist the efforts of the incredible women of the Grassroots Women’s Coalition and the work of Peace For All INTERNATIONAL, please visit www.peaceforallinternational.org and make a donation to the Pader Projects.

In short, these programs address the structural and psychosocial issues within society that prevent real peace, including inequality, lack of respect for human rights, poverty, post-traumatic stress and the inability to access education.

With the help of these mentors, I have come to understand that peace and human security are inextricably linked and that peace does not exist simply because the emergency phase is over.

This experience has solidified my commitment to working in post-conflict: the long, slow phase where lasting peace is built. Next year I plan to return to Uganda to support the implementation of these projects.

Rome Adventures

Rome, the city with a lot of broken things, and then some really big
fancy stuff. Officially, it seems to be known as the eternal city, but
my goodness, a great deal of it is falling away, and fast!

Joking aside, I really need to do more reading about Western Culture
and our history. I should have done more reading about Roman history,
in particular, before coming to Rome. I keep finding myself asking
people questions that I probably should know the answer to or being
surprise by things that to most are probably common knowledge.

Case number one:

I was in the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican and looking up at the
ceiling where all the most famous Michelangelo paintings are. While
looking around I realized that I had no idea what the paintings were
about (mostly), but I noticed a Japanese man sitting next to me
reading a Japanese guidebook that I could see described all the famous
ones, so I leaned over and asked him about the big famous picture in
the middle. Who were those two and what were they doing? He laughed
and laughed and said, "That's god making Adam..." Yup, the most famous
Michelangelo and I had to ask...

Case number two:

I'm all excited. I am at the Colosseum. I'm standing outside and
thinking, wow, this is a place I have heard of before and know a tiny
bit about. I was so eager to get in. I bought my ticket and quickly
climbed the steps to see inside. But to my surprise, it's mostly
broken. It's ruins. Ya I know it's almost 2000 years old, but I
thought there was more still intact than that. No central floor left.
No stands. What was I thinking?

I thought, well, it is old and big so maybe that is to be expected,
just how did I miss that in history class? I guess I slept through a
lot in school.

But, being the eternal optimist, I had high hopes for the Circo
Massimo. It looks so big and restored on all the maps (drawings,
remember), and then of course there's my images from the movie Ben
Hur. I eagerly climbed the Palatine Hill to get a good look. Um, Circo
Massimo is now mostly a large parking lot looking space with very
little to remind you of its former glory....

Oops.

Then there is the big stuff, the fountains, the monuments, the
churches. Where did the money come from? Everything is huge, extremely
ornate (to the point of garishness sometimes), and made of substances
that are pretty hard to find these days. Again, their old, but still,
the Vatican, for example, must have cost more than the GDPs of all the
African countries combined! The upkeep alone these days must as well.
I guess it is an independent entity (not a country per say but
almost), but where does the money come from?

Ah Rome... So interesting, but I gotta do some more research before I
head out tomorrow!

Change in Plans

I've left Uganda. I'm in the plane about to land in Amsterdam where I
am to spend 8 or 9 hours wandering before catching an evening flight
to Rome where I will be for a few days. But in his welcome speech, the
pilot says, "Welcome to Amsterdam. It's minus 2 degrees and...."

Minus 2?! I haven't been in less than 20 degrees in more than 8
months. What was I thinking?

I couldn't do it. As soon as I got off the plane I immediately went to
the airline counter and asked when the next flight to Rome was. Two
hours. I paid the change fee and took it. At least Rome was a BIT
warmer at 7 degrees. YIKES!

But 7 was definitely colder than I could handle. I went walking
wearing almost everything I brought with me and still found myself
hopping into galleries, cafes or whatever looked warm every hour so I
could stop shivering.

Ya, Canadian, right?

It was also funny in the airport waiting for the flight to Italy. I
had brought some peanuts with me in my bag from Uganda (called g-nuts
in Uganda, because peanuts grow in the ground). I pulled them out and
started eating them, making quite the mess actually (partially because
they had burst in my bag and fell all over). These two guys from Ghana
looked over and saw me. They laughed, came over and asked, "You've
been in Africa, haven't you? No one here eats g-nuts, and definitely
not like that..."

We all laughed, and then spent the next two hours sharing my g-nuts
and pointing out the differences between African countries and the
west. We laughed, for example, that the airport itself was bigger,
newer, more modern than most African capital cities. How there were
over 100 gates here and in Entebbe, for example, there were two, and
seldom both are full.

Culture shock with new friends. Much more fun.

Coming to a close

The rain is pouring down. The sky is filled with lightening. The sound
of thunder is booming all over the valley. I am sitting by candle
light in my grass-thatched hut writing in my journal in these last few
days of my stay in Uganda. I leave in 3 days.

I just came back from a run through the forest. The smell of
eucalyptus permeating the air. Ladies hurried home with loads of
produce on their heads, trying to reach a covered area before the
impending storm.

The thunder clouds were getting closer.

I can't help but feel a bit of sadness about leaving this. I am happy
to move on to the next adventure in my life, but I also know I will
think of my time here in Uganda, often. The people mostly. The ones
who let me get close and who took the time to get to know me, beyond
my white skin and strange, foreign behaviours. The ones who took me
below the surface and showed me the hidden areas of Ugandan life. The
ones who made me feel at home. The ones I looked forward to returning
to after trips away to other areas of the country.

I never thought Uganda would steal my heart like it has, but then
again I think most places do without me noticing it. They sneak up and
get under your skin. In this part of the world you have to be careful
though because it can literally get up under your skin (there are lots
of weird and wonderful parasites that burrow into you). Maybe that
comes from living locally in a place instead of travelling.

Interestingly, I have learned that I am not a good traveller. I like
to like to stay places, get to know people. Learn. Share. Be a part of
something. I don't want to sound arrogant and overprivileged either
though. I feel so lucky to be born into a life that permits me to
travel. I think, though, I will work harder to limit travel and
instead try and stay places longer.

I think it is because I like feeling an area, tasting it, breathing
it, rather than passing quickly. It's hard to get to know people if
you move that way, and I think the people are who I am coming to be
with, more so than the place. Their what I remember most.

So to all the wonderful people I have met and shared time with here in
Uganda and other parts of East Africa, thank you. You know who you are.

...and I look forward to coming back soon, if you'll permit me.

Little Godfrey is Back!

While I was working on my computer in my room, I heard some soft
coughing outside my door. It went on for quite some time until finally
one of my colleagues, Josephine, said, "did you see Godfrey is waiting
for you on the veranda."

The funny thing is I thought she was talking about my adult friend
Godfrey, but I thought, there is no way he would be sitting quietly
outside my room (he and Benny would be shouting and teasing the
staff). Who could it be?

It was little Godfrey, the abandoned child that we were taking care of
a few months ago. I was thrilled to see him.

I should let you in on a little secret. The reason I didn't post much
more about him is we ran into a few snags and things weren't looking
so good. It was seriously depressing actually. When Ayiko went with
Godfrey and a local council member back to Godfrey's village to get
permission to adopt him officially, the father refused to come to the
meeting and sign the papers. In fact, he would make sure he was absent
each time Ayiko came to the village. Our only option was to arrange
with his grandfather/uncle in the village for him to take care of him,
something we were all worried about doing since he ran away because he
was being neglected. But we couldn't just keep him. To date, there
have been numerous child thefts in the area. Sometimes the child is
stolen and used for labour, other times it is for ritual sacrifice for
black medicine (juju), which apparently is on the rise in Uganda. So
to keep Godfrey without official permission would set Ayiko up for
being charged with child theft. With the family being destitute, a
child theft charge would bring in much needed money and therefore such
a charge was a significant concern.

So, the situation was explained to Godfrey and he remained in the
village. No one was happy about it, but at least everyone understood
that Ayiko's hands were tied.

For the next few months, Ayiko sent a relative of his to visit Godfrey
from time to time. He seemed OK, so we stopped worrying.
Unfortunately, when Asina, Ayiko's wife, gave birth to a baby girl,
the visits to Godfrey accidentally stopped. No one could blame them as
they were pretty pre-occupied, not to mention extremely busy. Besides,
Godfrey was doing well so there was little worry.

A few weeks ago, however, Godfrey escaped again, this time saying he
was not only being starved, but also beaten. He couldn't take it any
longer. He ran back to town and found Ayiko. But again, Godfrey's
father refused to sign the papers.

In order to prevent a child theft charge, Godfrey now has to sleep
elsewhere, but he comes to the house to eat and play during the day.
It's not ideal, but at present, it seems the only option.

Like most people, you might be wondering why the police have not
charged the family with neglect and/or abuse? Great question. We keep
asking them the same thing, but they don't seem interested in laying
charges, for this or any number of other illegal acts brought to them.

Frustrating.

But for now, at least Godfrey is hanging out here again and getting
good food, if nothing else. The saga continues, and as it unfolds I
will write again.

At least I can say, "Welcome back Godfrey!" and run around playing
again.

Swimming and other Mishaps

The second I told Khalid that I'd be in Dar es Salaam in early
November he said, "GREAT! That means you can swim with our team on the
7th. Cool!" I laughed. He must be joking. First, Khalid swims on the
Tanzanian national team and swam in Beijing. He's an international
athlete that trains twice a day. I'm a recreational swimmer, dabbling
in multiple sports for fun. I'm not a bad swimmer, but even in my swim
club in Vancouver I'm somewhere on the lower middle of the team, and
that's when I am training regularly. Where I live in northern Uganda
there isn't any water, and I think I have maybe swam about a half a
dozen times in the past 3months.

When I arrived in Dar, Khalid was waiting at the bus stop, full of
smiles and reminding me of the competition. Gulp. I didn't really have
an excuse, apart from the fact I had only been in a pool a couple of
times over the past few months. That wasn't a good enough excuse
though for him.

A few days later, I headed off to Zanzibar with my friends, planning
on returning to Dar in a few days to compete. It was set, I would fly
in on Friday and swim the meet on Saturday. It kinda made me feel like
a professional athlete or something.

On Zanzibar, I found the local navy special forces swim team
practicing in the bay and I asked if I could train with them. They all
knew Khalid and were more than happy to have one of his swimming
buddies come and train with them. I tried to explain that I wasn't an
Olympic swimmer but somehow they kept looking at me like I was
suddenly going to turn into Michael Phelps.

On Thursday morning I went to their morning practice. The water was
warm and the sky was beautiful. We all lined up in the bay getting
ready for the warm up – a light swim across the bay between the boats
and back. As we pushed off I began to notice a stinging sensation,
kind of like bee stings. They became more intense, hitting me all over
my body. I kept swimming because everyone else was. When we stopped to
turn around I couldn't help but ask my neighbour if he felt the
stinging too. He laughed and said yes, but assured me it would be OK.
He was right. Even though I had been stung about a thousand times all
over my body (including some less than ideal places), the pain went
away when we left the jelly-fish area.

After the warm up we did some IM and then sprints. What's interesting
is that since this is all in the ocean, there is no resting time (you
are always treading water). I liked this. I felt like I was getting a
good work out.

Mid-way through the sprints I took a BIG gulp of the water. No
surprise I coughed a bunch and had to fight off a gag, nothing unusual
for a swimmer. I kept on with the practice.

During the day following, I started to notice a weird sensation coming
over me. I still can't put my finger on it. It felt like I was just
barely in my body. Nothing too serious though. I thought maybe it was
simply a reaction to the stings or the drinking the probably toxic
water (turns out a sewage outfall is near the bay).

When I went to the evening practice, I started to notice a few more
strange signs. I was feeling cold and getting chills. My ribs and side
started to ache. I noticed a bit of a headache. Hmm.

That night it hit me though. Fever, headache, vomiting, difficulty
breathing. You name it. Fortunately my friends were with me and made
me go to the hospital.

The first doctors thought maybe I "drowned," which I think must have
meant that they thought I aspirated water. The jury is still out. They
kept me in the hospital for a couple of days, pumped me with
antibiotics and let me rest. I didn't get better so my insurance
decided to evacuate me to Nairobi for more comprehensive treatment
using the Flying Doctors (that is a story in and of itself and I will
write all about the Flying Doctors in another post).

I should have been happy, thrilled actually that I would be getting
better treatment, but there is still a disturbing image I can't get
out of my head. Just before getting in the ambulance to take me to the
airport, I stopped by the doctor's room to ask him a question. His
door was closed so I began to walk away without knocking, but before I
could get far, a nurse pushed open the door and called the doctor
over. The doctor handed the breathing apparatus he was using to
resuscitate an almost dead young man over to another person and came
over to wish me well. My heart sank. I was only mildly injured and not
only was the doctor coming over to say goodbye to me, but I was the
one getting into the ambulance and being flown to Nairobi, when this
poor guy was probably going to die on that table. The inequality was
sickening. I've seldom felt so privileged in my life, and this
privilege was not comforting.

To make this long story a tiny bit shorter, I missed the swim meet. I
did get some of the best hospital care I have ever received in my life
however (Nairobi Hospital is far nicer than any hospital I have ever
been too in Canada), and I am recovering, from what, the doctors still
aren't totally sure (maybe a lung infection brought on by the
aspiration, but no one is clear as the signs pointed to multiple
issues). The problem is I still keep thinking about that boy on the
table.

The team won everything, and Khalid won best overall male swimmer with
5 golds. I couldn't help but joke with him that maybe he was lucky I
didn't swim and that this illness was a blessing in disguise. He just
laughed and told me I just have to come back and swim with him in All-
African Finals.

Gulp.

Tale of Two Cities

First impressions are influential. I always thought that was simply a cliché used in too many dandruff control or deodorant commercials, but when it comes to Africa and capital cities, I think it might be true.

 

My first images of Africa are of a chaotic, loud, smelly, smog-filled, jam-packed city, full of friendly people who mostly just left you alone to do your own thing (except taxi drivers looking for business, but they are the same everywhere in the world).

 

Welcome to Kampala.

 

Lots of run down buildings, copious corrugated-tin roofed shelters, dusty side roads, construction everywhere (but never seeming to be completed), fences around the few grassy/green patches (making them inaccessible), and of course the gigantic, rather vulture looking maribu storks perched above you in every large tree.

 

But then I took a night bus to Nairobi. I admit I expected Nairobi to be a bigger Kampala, but a hundred times more "dangerous" (Nairobi has the unfortunate reputation of being the most dangerous city in East Africa).

 

Nairobi couldn't be more different than Kampala.

 

Nairobi, and Kenya in general, obviously has a lot more money. Thirty-story buildings, intriguing architecture, tree lined boulevards, huge parks, flower gardens, divided streets, continuous (unbroken) sidewalks, huge department stores, and even a couple of neon billboards. The convention centre looks like something from Star Wars and has an intriguing central room that resembles the UN's main hall in NYC (I think that's because this hall might be used for African Union meetings or other meetings with heads of states). Nairobi looks more like Singapore or Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia); it is after all a major international city. It's where many UN agencies have their head offices, where corporations hold their shareholder meetings, and where tourists come on their way to the famous national parks like the Maasai Mara, or the Serengeti or Ngorogoro in Tanzania.

 

As for the question of safety, I can't say I felt any more unsafe in Nairobi than I do in Kampala. That being said I never was out walking at night in Nairobi, the time when you are most likely to get into trouble. On the other hand, I do walk at night in Kampala (and I probably shouldn't their either), but I try and avoid large groups of idle men or dark allies.

 

The long and the short of this rambling monologue is that I love how being here has forced me to throw my African stereotypes and generalizations out the window. Every time I think I see a pattern I realize I couldn't be more wrong. It's also made me wonder just how skewed most North American's view of "Africa" probably is if mine led me to strange conclusions and I would call myself fairly well travelled and open-minded. I'm not sure how anyone could generalize Africa - Africa, the continent with its something like 40 different countries, thousands of tribes and cultures, and of course equally as many languages (or dialects), traditions and ways of life.

 

What an amazing part of the world.

Absence

Ooops. Time flies when your working, travelling, studying, playing... Sorry. I will update the blog shortly with a number of posts I have written in my journal as I moved about without (consistent) internet.

The long and the short of things, I'm fine, but more on that in the coming posts.

What is Peace?

Is it the absence of war, or a reduction in violence? Is it the freedom to live, with access to safe food, water and shelter? Does it mean living without fear?

 

It is the ability to be with family and friends? How about being able to openly love whomever you chose?

 

Or is it the ability to sit quietly in the forest, by a brook, or in a field, listening to the wind, the birds, the insects and amphibians?

 

Perhaps it's meditation and a clear mind?

 

Can you smell peace? Is it the scent of cooking fires roasting the day's food? What about the aroma of new flowers blooming on old trees?

 

Maybe you can hold peace, like a newborn child, or a delicate butterfly?

 

Is the ability to play, to run, to jump, to sit, to smile, a possible option?

 

Or is it the rain after a long drought, or the clear sky after perpetual wetness? The warmth of the sun or the cool of the shade?

 

Perhaps it's simply the ability, the freedom, to ponder the meaning of Peace? 

 

However you define Peace, I wish you well today, this International Day of Peace.

Asienzu's Surprise

The Guinea Fowl we named Asienzu that lives on our compound has been running amok lately. I have been chasing her out of the garden all weekend. She usually obeyed the fence, but strangely this weekend she began flying over it into the garden (I didn't want to tell anyone she flew there or they might clip her wings again). I was perplexed. Did she want the tomatoes that badly?

 

Today, I had to leave the compound for a while, and when I came back I found Asienzu hiding deep in the very bushy tomato plants. But this time I noticed a calm rather than her usual frantic eating. She stayed there for about an hour while the other fowl waited outside the fence patiently. What was happening?

 

After a while, she stood up, stretched her feathers, and proudly displayed her first egg tucked away under the plants. She was thrilled with herself. I was thrilled with her. I had never seen a mostly wild bird lay an egg before.

 

She slowly walked away from the egg, jumped over the fence and joined her waiting friends. I could only imagine that in Guinea Fowl they were all congratulating her.

 

After some mutual preening they prompting went off in search of more food, this time in my other garden, but I didn't have the heart to chase them away. What's one less tomato anyway?

Congratulations, Asienzu!

PS: Asienzu means "peace" in the local language (Lugbara).

Riots

What an interesting time to be in Uganda. Things are heating up. Last week riots broke out in Kampala. On the surface, the instability appears linked to the fact that the King of Buganda, the Kabaka as he is called here, is being perceived by the president as challenging the power of the presidency.

 

But it's far more complicated and multi-layered.

 

It all started when the Kabaka tried to visit one of the disputed districts of his kingdom, Kayunga District. Kayunga was given to the Buganda kingdom as a "thank you" from the current president for the king's help when the president was a rebel leader trying to take over the government (which he did successfully). But not everyone in Kayunga wants to be part of the Buganda kingdom and some of the Kayunga folks protested his proposed arrival. But then those people who did want him to come fought back with a small riot in Kayunga.

 

But nothing ends with a small riot in Uganda.

 

The president sent extra police to maintain calm and prevent the preparations for the king's arrival citing "instability". This action, however, was viewed as being anti-Kabaka, which actually was partially true (that is a much bigger story that I won't get into). This got Buganda folks very upset, and Kampala is in the heart of Buganda territory. Buganda MPs walked out of parliament demanding an explanation from the president for his anti-Kabaka stance. Then things just exploded, and massive riots broke out all over Kampala and the surrounding areas.

 

If this sounds confusing, it's because the issue is complex. It's not just an issue of the Kabaka going to Kayunga. That was the trigger. What this did was give all the unemployed (I think the last number I saw was something like 50% of population is unemployed), particularly the youth, something to rally behind in order to express their frustration with the government's refusal to take meaningful measures to provide for the average Ugandan.

 

How are these things linked? The government spends tons of money on security, and most of the top military folks are from the president's home town (and were former rebels who helped him get into power). As well, all the top paid non-security positions in Uganda are held by people related to the president or his wife.

 

People are tired of the corruption. Uganda is the 3^rd most corrupt government in the world. Uganda is rich compared to most countries in East Africa yet people are starving. People are angry. Mix in territorial and power struggles (i.e. should the monarchy be involved in politics, etc.) and a coming election, and you have more than enough ingredients to create a great deal of instability.

 

He didn't say so, but I am pretty sure the riots and the sudden mobilization of thousands of people scared the president. It should have at least. This is just a small taste of what is to come if he doesn't act appropriately.

 

The next election is in 2011. The last few have been marred with allegations of vote-rigging and corruption, yet the president has refused to take meaningful steps to meet international standards to ensure a free and fair election, despite saying he wants "free and fair elections." Ironically he also said he wouldn't be ready to step down until 2025 – did that mean he wouldn't step down even if voted out? No one knows.

 

What this does mean is that things are going to be pretty crazy in Uganda in the next year and half. My fear is that if people aren't supported before 2011, if people remain starving, unemployed and burdened with the psychosocial issues and trauma from the various wars, things are going to be very, very ugly here.

 

And the ones who will be the most violent will be the youth.

 

My own research in the north has come to the same conclusion – if youth aren't supported soon, they are going to be ready to challenge the government with whatever they've got. 

 

I really hope the government listens this time. Uganda doesn't need more violence.

Ups and Downs

I must confess, this past month has been pretty crazy; an emotional
roller coaster. I think that might be why I have steered away from
posting. I didn't want to drag anyone through it.

No, it's nothing major. No serious trauma, no big break throughs. It's
probably simply the fact I have been away from friends and family for
six months, the frustration of working in post-conflict, and the fact
I haven't taken a day off in weeks. Honestly, nothing major, which
truthfully makes me feel a bit silly that I have been on this roller
coaster at all.

A few weeks ago I had to go to Kampala to renew my volunteer visa.
Simple right? It took two weeks, returning to the office every day to
fill another request or hear "come back tomorrow". During those two
weeks a group of guys tried to rob me (got my watch and my gum of all
things); I was given a bogus ticket by a police officer for a fee that
was equal to about 3months of his salary (I bribed my way out of it,
paying less than 1% of what he asked for); I was cornered by another
two officers and told to pay or they wouldn't let me leave the
university campus (I was furious and maybe too boldly pushed past them
and made it out without paying anything); I was told I couldn't have a
visa extension because I made an error on my application – no room for
discussion, case closed. I'm embarrassed to say that on that last one
I lost it. It was the culmination of all those things and that poor
immigration officer got an earful. I told him how I was just in the
country trying to help in the north and that because of his obstinacy
the project would fail and he could explain that to the women and
children who would be left with nothing. I stormed out of his office
and went to a politician I knew and asked her to help. She did. She
forced the officer to give me what I needed. He was furious, but did
what he was told (she was his big boss after all).

I felt terrible. I felt ashamed of my behaviour. Who was I to get all
bent out of shape over these tiny things? I was alive. I was safe.
That was more than I could say for so many people I knew in the north,
people who have to deal with this stuff, and worse, every day. I was
so fortunate and yet I somehow felt slighted and targeted.

I sat down in the shade of mango tree and closed my eyes. Breathe….

I went back and apologized to the immigration officer.

I headed back to my hotel in order to prepare for the 7 hour bus ride
back to the north. On my way I passed a large group of boda drivers
(motorbike taxis). As usual I heard "Hey Muzungu. We go?" I kept
walking. But in there I heard a voice that sounded familiar yell, "Hey
teacher…." I kept walking though. I heard a bike start up and come up
behind me. "Hey teacher, you OK?" the driver said. I looked over and
it was a boda driver who took me home one night more than a week
before. We had a lovely chat that night about his life and family and
about why I was in Uganda. His name was Makanga. "Get on. I'll take
you home."

I climbed on and had to take some very deep breaths to keep my tears
from flowing. Here was a guy who had almost nothing, was working
nights as a driver to scrape together enough money to pay his kids
school fees, yet he took time out to drive me home because he could
see I was not myself. He wouldn't accept any payment. Just gave me a
hug, wished me well and went back to work.

That's life in Uganda as a foreigner. One minute you are frustrated
and wondering why you are here, venting about the obscene corruption
and inequities, but then the next minute you are being taken to tea by
a local friend and spending the afternoon laughing about the days
absurdities. The day I had my first run in with the police, for
example, the staff at a restaurant I used to go to from time to time,
but hadn't been at in more than two months, came running over and all
gave me hugs and welcomed me back to Kampala.

Emotions up and down…up and down…

When I got off the bus in Arua, the clean cool air hitting my face. I
felt better. As I was collecting my bags I saw my good friend Prince
waiting for me with his puppies in hand all wining for me to come over
and play. I laughed and remembered why I love this place.

Godfrey

[Note: this is a long, multi-page post]

On Weds, a little boy stood listening intently outside Asianzu House Internet Café trying to figure out where the sounds of the sports game were coming from. He couldn’t see the TV playing a recent football match, but he could hear the cheers and see the faces of others watching it. He peered inside. Of course, like everyone who comes by our discount internet café, we ushered him. He took off his shoes at the entrance and quietly found a spot on the floor next to two strangers who were sitting in chairs. He pulled a mandazi (Ugandan doughnut) out of his pocket, cut into three, and shared it with those around him, making sure he got the smallest piece. One of the men shared his rice with the boy and the boy tried to pay him with the few coins he had left in his grubby, thread bare pockets.

The boy’s name is Godfrey. He had just arrived in Arua Town from a small village 30km away where he had been abandoned some time back. The famine in northern Uganda had hit his village hard. With no food his family had to make tough choices. His mother was brought (possibly bought) into a new family but not allowed to keep her old children, whom she left with her former husband, the children’s father, hoping with one less mouth to feed they would fair better. Being extremely poor, the father was still unable to care for his kids and ended up abandoning them in the village hoping that others would feed and take care of them (which is usually what happens). But right now many people are starving, and five out of the six abandoned children died because of lack of food. At tens years old, Godfrey thought his best chance was to go to the biggest town near by and try to find some work, any work, so he could raise money for food. He found himself in town collecting plastic bottles and raising a miniscule bit of money, which he then used to eat crumbs. On the day we met him, he had made 200 shillings (10 cents) and spent 50 shillings on a tiny 2-inch doughnut, which he then shared with perfect strangers because they had allowed him into what seemed to him to be their home (which is also why he took off his shoes despite the fact everyone was wearing theirs). His clothes were torn, his growth obviously stunted (we all thought he was about seven years old), and his belly was distended.

Here was a child who had lost everything, had been left to fend for himself on the street, was starving, and yet shared his tiny, precious morsal of food with others who were obviously well-fed. He never asked for anything in return. He was different than other kids left of the street. Most have become hard and selfish, particularly since most street youth are picked up fast by gangs or thieves and trained to steal or commit crimes for a “boss”. In return they are given some minimal amount of food or money, and in their group they find some sort of safety from predators. Godfrey, being new on the scene, hadn’t been scooped up yet.

We could all see Godfrey had something different in him. Some light, or spark.

As night came and the café was closing we couldn’t just leave him. We knew he would certainly be picked up by the gangs, and not to mention, we rationalized, a huge storm was coming. We decided to let him sleep in one of our spare rooms in our compound just on the edge of the town, just for one night.

The next morning, well before most were up, he hurried with David, one of our staff, back to the café. He just assumed he was going back on the street and had had one lucky night. But there really is something different about Godfrey and everyone who meets him can see it. Instead of kicking him out, David and the other staff found odd jobs for him to do and gave him food in return. Incredulously, Godfrey still tried to pay for things, handing over his remaining money to the server shyly because he knew the food he had been given was worth more than he had. He still never tried to take anything for free.

During the day, Godfrey and David became friends. Godfrey gave David a nickname of Da Da (the closest local word to David). Godfrey was glued to David’s side. At the end of the night, David couldn’t send Godfrey back out on the street, so once again he brought him home. This time, Godfrey knew he was getting special treatment and busied himself around the compound trying to clean, put things away, or whatever he thought he could do. He even washed himself carefully to make sure he didn’t dirty the place. He was polite, quite, but always ready to help.

Godfrey’s Second Night

David and I were surprised that Godfrey was so alert and awake at midnight. He just wanted to play. I admit, being a kid at heart myself, I did probably make him a bit hyper as I played a two-person, musicless version of musical chairs, along with other rambunctious games (wouldn’t anyone?). But even when we were all obviously tired, he still seemed to constantly avoid the room we had for him. We were confused. Each time we would open the door and prepare the room, he would stand at the door, wait until we left the room and close the door again from the outside. The language barrier was all too obvious. We were saying goodnight but he just kept following us.

Finally, at 1am, David and I were exasperated and needed sleep so we more forcefully said good night and went to our respective rooms, leaving him outside (he knew his room). I looked over my shoulder and Godfrey way still standing by his door, refusing to go in. At this point I figured he was just being stubborn.

Exhausted, I crawled into my bed and closed my eyes.

Before I feel asleep I heard noises outside my room. Coughing and shuffling. I knew it was Godfrey trying to get my attention. I quietly asked if he was OK, but his answer was long and complicated and I couldn’t catch it (my Lugbara is still not that good). He asked me if he could come in and I said yes, thinking I would at least let him sleep on the floor. I really needed sleep by this point.

When he got in the room, he asked if he could borrow my flashlight (an item that totally amazed him) and he looked around the room. He checked in all the cupboards, in the corners, behind jackets and under the bed. Once he was satisfied, he handed back the flashlight. I handed him a sheet and said goodnight. He waited standing next to my bed. Staring. Then it dawned on me. Children in Uganda never sleep alone. Safety in numbers. Even most adults don’t (the whole family sleeps together on a papyrus mat on the floor). He was terrified of sleeping alone, and here we were trying to get him to sleep in a strange room, in a strange compound, with strange people, and asking him to sleep alone. On top of that, there are old local (Ugandan) horror stories of strange white people (albinos) steeling children, locking them away and eating them as part of some dark magic (kind of like our Handsel and Grettal). I can only imagine his fear.

All I said was OK, and before I could blink my eyes he had slid under the mosquito net and climbed onto my smaller-than-a-single sized bed. He wrapped himself in his own blanket like a cocoon and nestled up next to me. Within seconds he was fast asleep.

I think he only work up once, near morning when the poor little guy fell out of bed having never slept in a bed off the floor before. The look of shock on his face was both hilarious and endearing.

As day broke, he was ready to go outside and play. Before the sun rose he was already playing with my cell phone by looking at the pictures and having fun pushing the buttons. I was still groggy from a relatively sleepless night. As soon as we got outside it was as though someone had pushed the “high-speed” button. He began climbing up poles, running among the paths, kicking a football (soccer ball) around, and just plain being a kid. Despite my tiredness, it was endearing to watch.

It was sometime about then when it hit me, why did he sleep the first night in the spare room and not the second?

I spoke to the night guard. He told me that on the first night, he told Godfrey to “stay in that room and not come out until morning or the dogs will get you.” Yikes! We don’t have dogs, but the neighbours do and I can see why he would have been too scared to see if the dogs were at our house or the neighbours (they often bark in the night). Poor guy. Obviously on the second night he realized there were no dogs.

I am sure there will be many more stories to tell about Godfrey, and unfortunately with this famine, there will probably be many more children like Godfrey coming into town.

Godfrey is one of the lucky ones though. Ayiko, the founder of Peace For All International, and his wife have agreed to take in Godfrey, and all of us volunteer staff have agreed to try and help with his costs by donating each month. Ayiko, born in this same area of Uganda, was once a street kid too in Sudan (having to escape there after Idi Amin was overthrown), so he couldn’t let Godfrey go. Ayiko was rescued by a very special family who helped him get to a refugee camp and go through school when he was about the same age. Later he was rescued by the UN and sent to Canada as a refugee, where he then became a Canadian citizen. Now he is back in Uganda trying to help his people through Peace For All International (www.peaceforallinternational.org).

… and Godfrey is one of his people.

PS: I purposefully didn’t include a photo of Godfrey in order to respect his privacy.

Pader Part II

For the past week I have been out in the villages of northern Uganda (Pader District) doing the data collection for my thesis. This time, however, I opted for local transport deep into the heart of the former war torn region – by bicycle.

For those of us who were raised in peaceful times and places, it’s hard to imagine the terror that the Acholi (the people of Pader) faced and how they continue to struggle with the psychosocial impacts. For example, it only mildly occurred to me as I set out for home 20km away just as the sun was setting that only a few years ago, such an endeavour would have meant almost certain death by the LRA. At first I wondered why people today were horrified that I would start a ride at that hour (people offered me spaces in their homes to avoid riding), beyond the usual fact that you simply can’t see anything after dark as there is no electricity and the roads are littered with potholes, domestic animals and other common hazards (including the odd speeding vehicle).

The road I was travelling, and had been travelling much of the week, was the site of some of the bloodiest days in recent Ugandan history. It was one of the areas that the Ugandan forces curiously didn’t defend, some locals arguing that it was because it was considered beyond hope and therefore not worth risking the loss of soldiers. As a result, nighttime was a period of sleepless terror. Homes were raided, children were abducted, and in many cases the children were also forced to watch or participate in the brutal killing of their parents or community members. Anyone on the roads even just as the sun was setting would surely have been slaughtered. In fact, rising early in the morning would reveal a path of dismembered bodies along the road of those who chose to risk travelling in darkness when they thought they would be able to pass undetected, or because they simply were caught out when darkness fell.

As I rode through the encroaching darkness, I remembered the stories I had heard and thought how liberating it must be for people to now be able to have cooking fires burning in the evening.

On this evening, I watched as large groups of women carried water and goods on their heads as they headed home. They laughed and joked with each other, shouting funny comments at me as I passed. Men huddled around a candle in some of the villages drinking and playing cards, or shouting and laughing about life’s adventures. Children still ran about playing tag or screaming “Mundu!” (white person in the local language) as I passed (we really do glow in the dark by comparison because people could easily identify me from so far when I could barely see the road in front of me). Life was loud at this time as most people finally had some free time after a long hard day. Even the night animals sang loudly and cheerfully.

It was just more evidence of Ugandan’s resilience and desire to move beyond the past.

The moon was rising and the stars were brilliant. Lightening was flashing off in the distance signalling much needed rain.

In short, it was simply beautiful. Peaceful. I rode on, taking my time.

Uganda has come so far. While poverty and many of it’s subsequent issues are still prevalent, on this night, those issues seemed to disappear and I fell in love with this magical land once again.

RAIN!

I can almost hear the ground sucking up the moisture, even as rivers of water flow in every direction. The rain has finally come. It's our first real rain in months.

This morning, I was speaking to a guard at the bank who was lamenting just how dire the situation is here without rain. Crops have died. People are dying. We pondered what humans could do in such situations. How we really are at the mercy of nature. For him it was particularly troubling because the cost of the few goods in the markets had skyrocketed. The drought is hitting Sudan, too, he said, and richer folks were driving to Arua to buy up all the goods at inflated prices to ensure they got them, pushing the items beyond the reach of locals.

I can only imagine that guard is now smiling from where he stands at his post, enjoying the rain as it drenches us all.

Bucket are lined along any sort of roof eve in order to collect this liquid gold.

I can hear children laughing and adults singing and playing music.

Its really amazing how something so simple can bring such joy. The smiles on peoples faces, even if they are huddling in doorways and their fires have gone out, is something to behold.

It's a magical day to be in Arua.

Absence

Maybe I should first explain my absence from posting before I get deep into this one. The truth is, I have been feeling a bit overwhelmed. Here in northern Uganda, things are rough for people: the famine is intensifying due to the ongoing drought; wages are minuscule for locals if they can even find a job (most working people make about $1 a day); malaria is rampant and people can’t afford the meds to fight it, killing many children everyday; and everyone looks at the foreign community as someone who can save them from this, someone who can lift them out of poverty. Everyday I want to empty my wallet because I don’t feel I did enough, I couldn’t help everyone with my hands or skills. But on top of that, I am being asked by large NGOs and the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA) to shift operations to Southern Sudan and the DR Congo (DRC) because the need is greater there. I can barely keep up here and I know there is more need there…

…breath…..

That is what goes through my head every few days. One day I am seeing progress and hope and feeling fantastic. A few days later I am feeling overwhelmed and wonder if I am being effective (or how to be more effective). Repeat.

It’s the cycle of aid work, really. For some it sends them packing for home, for others it makes us work harder. Our big challenge is to avoid burnout. For me, I turn off my computer, grab a football (soccer ball) and go out and play with community members. Other days I just go for a long walk deep into the villages and chat with folks in broken Lugbara and English.

What gives me strength is that I get to hear the incredible stories of resilience, strength and survival. I hear about families. I am told how happy people are that Peace For All International (PFAI) is here since most NGOs have left for Sudan and the DRC; how they feel valued and not forgotten. I get to play with timid children who run up, yell, “I’m fine how are you?” and then hide, or others who dare come and touch the hand of the white person (many children fear white skin because they were told that albinos would eat them, and to them we all look like albinos). It’s in those moments I remember why I am here.

It’s true, things aren’t as bad here and the need is greater elsewhere, but the need is here too and I am proud of PFAI for keeping things going here. That’s not to say we aren’t planning a way to start operations in Sudan and the DRC, but we won’t just close shop here. We can’t leave these people behind when some are just getting their feet on the ground and are perilously close to falling back into dire situations (see, even my degree of need has changed – Uganda is poor, but not dire. South Sudan and the DRC are dire).

One thing that is limiting us is funding. We are desperately trying to find funds to keep projects going and begin to shift to other areas of need. Most major funders won’t fund Uganda anymore because it is “doing better than other places.” True, but like I said, it is perilously close to falling back into the old pattern of conflict and extreme suffering.

On that note, if you know of anyone who might be able to spare a few bucks, or a great aunt who has some extra money, or you work for a company that is looking to donate to a charity somewhere, please let me know (and visit our online donation page at www.canadahelps.org ). PFAI is registered in Canada and can give tax receipts. Our website is www.peaceforallinternational.org, but it is still a work in progress. We have spent nothing on admin (not a good long-term strategy, I know) so our visuals are poor, but our work is tremendous.

I also wanted to say thanks to you all for keeping up with these stories and following my sporadic musings. I will do my best to be more regular (and more interesting) in my posting. This week I am off to the villages in Pader District where there is no power or running water, so I won’t be able to post, but I will take notes and write when I get back. I am working with youth on a development plan for-youth-by-youth. The areas I am working in are places where youth were regularly recruited as child soldiers, but now are trying to find their place in the community. They are also trying to deal with the violent incursions of the tribal group neighbouring their territory. Since many only knew violence, their reaction is to retaliate or join the government military to fight the tribal forces. It’s an interesting group of people.

Best to you all, and stay safe.

Food crisis in Pader

The following excerpt concerns the region I am volunteering in. I am
posting it so you have a better understanding of what is happening on
the ground here. So much transpires here (like many places) and goes
unnoticed by people in North America.

If I can do anything by being here, I hope I can at least open a few
peoples' eyes to life in East Africa (and beyond). I hope the stories
I bring show the complexity of the place; the strengths, weaknesses,
delights and trials. Generally speaking, the African continent is most
known in North America for the negative aspects (e.g. famine, war,
conflict, etc.), but there is so much beauty, hope, compassion and
resilience. We need to understand all of it.

That being said, unfortunately this story is not of a positive light,
but it is happening here none the less and people need to know.

Uganda: Food Shortage Threatens North, Eastern Uganda

from New Vision
by Anthony Bugembe

Kampala — Increasing food shortage remains a serious concern in the
north and eastern Uganda. According to the Uganda Humanitarian Update
for May, the situation is caused by the prolonged dry spell.

Other causes are the quarantine on livestock due to foot-and-mouth
disease and the hike in food prices because of the limited supply and
the high demand.

Following reports of acute famine and death from hunger, food security
assessments were launched in Pader, Soroti, Amuria, Katakwi and
Kaberamaido.

"Food insecurity was reported to be most dire in Amuru district.
Results from seven sub-counties indicated that while no deaths
occurred as a result of hunger, many families were surviving on one
meal a day," the report stated.

For the rest of the story, please go to the original website: http://allafrica.com/stories/200906250059.html

Day of the African Child

“We are all tired of child labour…of violence…of defilement,” shouted a 10-year-old girl at a celebration of the Day of the African Child in Arua, Uganda, calling on all parents to end these practices. The assembled crowd clapped politely.

June 16 is the Day of the African Child. The day commemorates the children of Soweto, South Africa, who died on June 16th, 1976 while protesting the abysmal apartheid education system. In 2009, events took place in hundreds of cities, towns, and villages throughout the continent. Children sang, danced and gave heartfelt speeches. Politicians spoke about the importance of protecting youth. Community leaders expressed concern that the voices of youth were being left unheard.

According to the International Labour Organization (ILO), thousands of children in central and west Africa are sold into slavery each year for cotton, cocoa and coffee production. Hundreds of thousands more are exploited as cheap or expendable labour, or recruited as child soldiers. Estimates for child abuse and sexual assault in some areas are as high as one in two for young women. Even worse, these numbers have all increased over the past few years.

What’s perhaps most frightening is the fact that this doesn’t make the North American news anymore. Does it mean we’ve become blasé about the horrors endured by African people: a skyrocketing HIV/AIDS epidemic, oppressive dictators, violent conflicts, and rape used as a weapon of war? Does it means the plight of African youth can’t compete for our attention with the swine flu, the fluctuating economy, or “John and Kate Plus Eight”? Or does it mean we’ve given up on Africa?

The G-8 promised to increase aid to Africa, but working in rural Uganda, I see the reality of countries, including Canada, cutting back their aid. Programs that were helping youth get their feet back on the ground by teaching about HIV/AIDS, economic development, leadership, and non-violence are slowly disappearing. Youth are frustrated. They feel like they are being left behind. Having grown up knowing only war and violence as means to resolve conflicts, combined with their natural feelings of invincibility and having nothing to lose, these youth are ticking time bombs. It’s no wonder that many demobilization campaigns aimed at youth and child soldiers have been unsuccessful, since they haven’t learned the skills to live in peace.

Youth are similar everywhere. They want to play. They want to be kids. They want to live free from abuse, assault and violence. They want to go to school. They want to be able to find a job once they have completed their education. They want to be respected and accepted. They want to be healthy. They want to be safe. They want security and opportunity.

As the Day of the African Child passes, it’s my hope that in Canada we will remember the youth in Africa; that we will not abandon them; that we will continue to hear their stories; that we will remind our political leaders to support projects that give them a future. It’s also my hope that the Canadian media will tell their stories, the good and the bad, because they have amazing stories to tell.

The Farm is Growing

I must admit, I didn't know the Peace For All International compound was going to become a farm. I knew there was a project helping disadvantaged women learn to raise egg-laying hens more effectively, humanely and sustainably, but I didn't know the chickens would be onsite - especially not 1000! At this stage they are still small and fluffy, although they are growing (and eating) fast. In no time there will be a lot of "singing" adult females here....

It is funny how in life sometimes we go full circle. I used to volunteer at a vet clinic (about 15 years ago), and actually planned to become a vet at one point. As well, for the past 5 years I have been working on improving farm animal welfare. I never imagined that when working in human security in Uganda I would be right back to where I was before. Every week I have to climb in with the hens and vaccinate, one by one. It's kind of fun. At least I know everything is being done humanely.

But the hens aren't the only ones sharing this space. Each day there seems to be a new arrival. Yesterday, two turkeys joined us. A few days before, five jungle fowl. A bit before that there was a goat. No one is planning to eat anyone, thankfully, and they are here simply to teach about humane and sustainably farming. I made the president of the organization promise me...once he agreed I started working with the local folks to name them. So far we have come up with names for three of the jungle fowl:

Mungufeni - Gift from god
Asienju - Peace
Mundu - Whitey

Having these folks sure makes for a colourful morning! The sounds of all the birds is quite an alarm clock, especially since the night beds for the turkeys and jungle fowl are right behind my mud hut - RIGHT behind...

Cockle-doodle-doo!

(as I write this at 5am because I can't really sleep with all the singing)

Note: Farming is growing in this region. By teaching people about more humane farming and negative effects of large-scale, intensive factory farming, I hope we are able to create a natural, local opposition to massive farms that are sooner or later going to try and set up here.

Running adventures

My colleague Dustin and I usually go for a run in the evening. It's always quite the spectacle with people shouting "How are you?" "Good job!" "bye," or something in Lugbara. We get invited places, chased (for fun),waved at, or cause children to run into their dwellings and hide until we pass (note: lots of kids are terrified of white people, with some thinking we eat black people or that if they touch us they will turn white and sickly like us). We're used to that though.

Today we went on a new route through some corn fields. When we popped out on the other side we were on the edge of a large sports ground full of people. Of course, we can't blend in so everyone turned and started yelling "mundu!" or "muzungu!" (meaning white guy - much to
the bane of Dustin who is First Nations and still in shock at being called white). It was only then that I noticed that there were a group of about 12 youth (maybe 16 to 19 years old) standing in a line - a starting line. Yes, we had just run onto a track where the Arua track
team was training for a district competition in a few weeks. There was no escaping the waving hands yelling "come join!" We thought about running off but knew that would be rude so we took the bait and joined in.

Now I must confess, I am not a bad runner, and in high school I was the top 400 metre runner for our school. But high school was over 15 years ago and my running these days consists of a few light jogs per week. Even still I thought I might be able to hold my own, given I was
keeping up with some of the Ugandan national swim team folks. Dustin felt the same way since he is pretty much king on the basketball court.

The race was the 1500 metre sprint. We all laughed and I told them I would start at the back. I asked them to cheer me on as they lapped me, secretly hoping that they wouldn't catch me and that maybe I would be right on their tails at least at the beginning.

The whistle blew and we were off. Maybe it would be more accurate to say THEY were off. Dustin and I were probably just reaching the halfway mark of the first lap (of four) when they were starting lap two. Talk about humbling. The crowd on the sidelines were going wild,
cheering like it was a tight race. I didn't want to be lapped so I picked up the pace. I could feel my lungs pounding - you know when you get that taste of blood in your mouth when you exercise hard? Ya, that was happening.

As I fumbled over the finish line, the Arua team was already looking refreshed. They never lapped me, but I am sure if it were five laps the leader would have (or I would have run until my lungs did bleed just to avoid it). We all had a good laugh though. The coach offered us another chance if we wanted, saying the team would be doing it again in 5 mins. We politely declined. I joked with one guy asking him what time their practice started and finished. It started at four and ended at six or so everyday. I said I would come at 5:55 and race him again and maybe be some competition. He laughed and said, "you still couldn't catch me." I laughed too because he was certainly correct.

As Dustin and I walked away, carrying our pride in pockets, well out of sight, we both agreed that being humbled and humiliated from time to time was important. Good for our development.

I also suggested we go back in a couple of days and try again. I'll let you know how it goes...