Random Journal Thoughts...

My back is slightly sunburnt from washing clothes in a tank top yesterday morning. I'm too brown to see any pink, but it hurts a bit. It doesn't both me much, just a presence. I laugh to think how strange I'll if I put on shorts or a bathing suit when I go back to the states. Arms and back as brown as genetically possible, but such pale legs, especially above the calves. And my stomach--even I am sometimes amazed when I see it next to my arms in the mirror!
.
Maama and the boys--Simanda and God in particular--were teasing me quite a bit today about finding a man to bring and I marry him. They said that since I now know how to cook, to peel, to dig, to sew, to wash, that it is time for me to get married. Good-natured teasing--I don't mind it. Maama keeps wondering when I will produce. She had more than one child at this age. How much will she worry a few years from now when I'm still single and childless? I promised to bring any fiance to meet her, whatever his skin colour or citizenship. I don't know whether I prefer when they tease me about getting married or when they tease me about becoming a nun.

Dear Jay, I don't think I'm your eccentric young advisee any more. Young, yes. Eccentric, always. Appreciating your insights into life, of course. But I'm growing up now, subtly becoming more "adult." It's difficult to describe--maybe a greater sense of peace and ease with who I am, where I am, and where life is taking me. It still comes only in bits and pieces, but at times, it is there. This intuitive mellow confidence that helps me stride into the world as "adult" and "teacher." Even so, I miss hanging out in your office and trying, again, to explain my latest ridiculous decision. I promise to visit soon.
.
I made a skirt for Brendah today. Not quite from scratch, but almost. An old uniform of Hafisah's, too short for either of the girls and quite ragged. I made it a knee-length skirt--added a drawstring, pocket, and short slits at either knee. She likes it. I'm glad.
.
I miss running. I'll start again when I go home in July. Then continue when I come back to Gulu. I think it's too late to add to my list of muzungu eccentricities here in Bukoto.
.
I asked Maama today what "remembrance" I should leave here at home. It was she who suggested I plant a tree at St Jude, which I want to talk to the Headmaster about when we begin next term. She also said a tree for here--a mango, near the kitchen. I'll talk to Taata about it soon. It's probably too late to plant now--the rains seem to be ending. I may have to leave the money and let them plant during the next rainy season. We'll see. It's hard to talk about such things because I don't want to think about leaving.
.
79 days until Em and I travel. I just counted. It feels like forever. It feels like no time at all. Bittersweet, even in anticipation.

Cotton Suspended in Three Dimensions

Lately, I have been learning to see--to really notice--the beauty of the clouds. It is a wondrous thing, this beauty--at once stunning and brilliant and dark and powerful. A beauty which overwhelms and disturbs the senses. Truly awesome, it is neither simple nor purely good; instead presenting itself as both terrible and complex.
.
I have long known and seen the beauty in the African sky. The stunning blue of the dry season horizon. The stars thrown by fistfuls into the darkness. The sunsets whose rich colours are only matched by traditional wear. The lightening and rain which prove the heavens' mighty strength. These I have known, both in love and fear. But the clouds had long escaped my eye as anything more than bearers of the thunderous deluge.
.
When I first notice the clouds, they seem painted onto the blue backdrop that is the sky. Imposing splashes of brilliant white, edged sometimes with gray. Some are small, some much larger, but all appear suspended in the same plane. The sky is so big that I always see it first in two dimensions.
.
But, like the "3D Magic" pictures of my childhood, there is a stunning secret hidden in plain sight. Like the bizarrely coloured patterns and tesselations, the afternoon sky invites me to a deeper level of seeing. My eyes don't cross, and there are no dancing clowns or flying elephants, but my wonder is still inspired. As I focus my gaze on the cloudy sky, squinting to take it all in, I begin to see the whole array in the third dimension. Clouds sort themselves out, revealing the subtlest shades of white and white. Different planes appear in my field of vision and well-defined edges blur as they blend together. The horizon is too vast to capture in my glance, the clouds too white to stare at long.
.
When I notice long enough, they seem to float on a subtle current, quietly shifting, fading, melting. Moment by moment, the vision is transformed, and my eyes ache at trying to take it all in.
.
Beauty, deep beauty, moves me in the depths of my soul with its truth which is both pure and terrible. Beauty which can never be captured--by pen or brush or lens or melody.
.
And so I am learning to see the clouds in the sky.

Breaking the Slump.

From my journal...
.
Night comes early in these "winter" months, and we are without electricity again tonight. It strains my eyes to write by the low light of the paraffin lamp, but I want to write tonight. No, more than that, I need to write. I need words to flow through my mind and pen. I need to see the ink making sense on the page. This writing slump has gone on too long--I haven't written, not really, in weeks. I have been increasingly restless of late, a feeling which is surely both a cause and a result of my not writing. It's been in my mind to write; multiple topics have meandered their way through those winding corridors, especially when I'm walking or traveling. But mostly, the words have been caught somewhere in the haze of a developing cold and my sense of restlessness. I need to break through it for the sake of the ache in my soul.
.
This evening, playing with the kids and then watching the stars rise, I felt the haze raise a bit, and so, I am trying now to write. I hope this one comes out decent, not obviously forced, because it has been beautiful in my mind these last few days. Perhaps better written on a breezy afternoon, it has instead been relegated to this dark night.

Praying for Change

"A Prayer for a New President and a New America," Shane Claiborne, Sojourners January 2009, p. 16.
.
God of love, grace, and hope, thank you for creating a perfect world. Forgive us for the mess we have made of it. Forgive us for the groaning of creation, for the millions who die of hunger and curable diseases, for warehousing people in prisons and using them for labor, for the scandal of billions wasted in war, for an economy that mirrors the seven deadly sins, for the violence and greed in our own hearts. Save us from ourselves.
.
Give us the courage to bless the poor in a world that blesses the middle class, to bless the meek in a world that admires aggression, to bless the hungry in a world that feeds the already fed, to bless the merciful in a world that shows no mercy on evildoers, to bless the pure in heart in a world of clutter and noise, to bless the peacemakers in a world that baptizes bombs.
.
Give us imagination that we might not conform to the patterns of this world, that we might shatter indifference and interrupt injustice with grace, that we might choose the cross over the sword, that we might be as shrewd as serpents and as innocent as doves, that we might consider the lilies and sparrows as they shame Wall Street's splendor, that we might choose the dream of God over the dreams of nations, that we might cling to the God who so loved the world, not just America, that we might allow our Jesus to change America rather than America to change our Jesus.
.
.
.
Amen. Amina. So let it be.

She started a trend in P.4...

Letter.

1st Apirl 2009

Dear Aunt Nakaweesi I like you so mach your the one who my best teacher more than the all teachers pleaSe Aunt Nakaweesi I thank you for the work you have done. I am bistebing you in Is time please May God bess you. I am Najjemba Dorothy. Please Aunt kristina The word measure means What. Thank you Aunt kristina I will buing for you gifts for making happy you makeing happy like giveing stickers. you not give me sticks You can see I like so murch. You have good stickers.

MAy GOD BLESS.

--Najjemba Dorothy, Primary 4, English Homework book, 01-04-09

.

.

Dear Aunt Kristina thank you For giving me homework.

I am Nakayondo Rose for me to morrow I given you 4 over cados.

--Nakayondo Rose, Primary 4, English Homework book, 01-04-09

.

.

I like Aunt Kristina so much because she give me stickers. God gives anything you want. God bress you.

--Kasozi Swaibu, Primary 4, English book, 01-04-09

.

.

Thank you Aunt kristina for came at St Jude Junior school Thank Aunt kristina for giving the sticker Aunt Nakaweesi you have been Teach as Thank Aunt Nakaweesi on Friday I am going to bring for you the passon fruit.

--Namyalo Molly, Primary 4, English Homework book, 01-04-09

.

.

Aunt Nakaweesi Kristina the word Debating means what?

Dear aunt kristina thank you to given me Home work I am NakaFeero maddie in primary Four.

--Nakafeero Maddie, Primary 4, English Homework book, 01-04-09

.

.

Thank you for shaive for my hair.

Thank you Aunt AUNT Nakaweesi kristin for given me stickers.

What is you father, mother's name them. Write for me. ______________

--Nankya Victoria, Primary 4, English Homework book, 01-04-09

.

.

Dear Aunt kristina I am also happy beaue my Mother and my father is also happy because you teaching me good work. God blees you too. My book is got losst.

--Nambooze Maria, Primary 4, English Homework book, 03-04-09.

.

.

Thank you Aunt Kristina for coming at St. Jude Junior shool, thank you for teaching us good English, I am very happy because it is very easy now. Good night, God bless you.

--Nabukeera Gonzaga, Primary 4, English Homework book, 03-04-09.

.

.

Please read.

I wan't to great you and Aunt Emily and My name is Carol and I am 10 year old I live at Butale i Thank you to come on ST Jude Junior school God bless you and Au'nt Emily and at night bless you avery day night.

And I want you when Iam going at home to give me questions and do at home.

I Thank to Aunt Emily and Aunt kristina because the mothe of Aunt Emily is called babulra and your groundmother is called Carol and God bless yo and your friends.

--Nakwana Carol, Primary 4, English Homework book, 03-04-09.

that moment.

loss and grief has been on my mind a lot lately.
i've watched from afar as friends grieved losses.
i've watched as friends grieved and feared losses from afar.
i've attended almost as many burials in the last seven months as in the previous 21 years.
most recently, i got sunburnt from the six hours in the back of a pickup with fellow teachers as we travelled to spend 40 minutes at the burial for a colleague's father.

just now, sitting here in the internet cafe, in a moment of delight as i flipped through my sister's photos on facebook, i caught the eye of a white girl sitting across from me. there were tears streaming down her face even as she tried not to cry. her eyes were full of that grief that comes when you get unexpected, unwanted, bad news... and you can't do anything more than finish reading the email. grief... from afar. without the comfort of friends and family. without the chance for a last goodbye or any physical closure.

the closest i've come to that moment was one summer working as a crusader, when i got a phone call telling me that one of my semi-mentors from my parents' church had just died. even then, i was among a community who also knew the man, and i'm pretty sure i was offered the chance to go home for the funeral if i wanted.

i haven't experienced that moment like she just did. i hope never to have to. the prospect fills me with dread, and when i'm honest, it is one of the greater fears i have while living here and as i consider a longer-term commitment.

that moment is difficult enough when you're in the room as they take the last breath, or when you learn about it in the midst of family and friends who are also grieving and can comfort each other in that grief.

i feel guilty for having witnessed that moment for her. i feel sad for knowing i can't offer her any comfort or solace. and my own joy is a bit dulled by her pain.