Webale.

*I've been intending to post this for a week and a half now, as I had promised some of you. So, here it is: the sermon I preached at Mt. Olive Brethren Church in Pineville, Virginia, USA, on 11th October 2009.

.

Good morning. Thank you for coming this morning and for allowing me to share some thoughts about my time in Uganda. Some of you are aware that I recently returned from living in East Africa for a year. The reflections I am going to share with you this morning come from that time. Before I get into that, however, let me first tell you a little about where I've been living and what I've been doing for the past year.

.

.

I graduated from Messiah College last year in May. While a lot of my friends were preparing to begin graduate studies, I wanted to get out into the world and actually do something with myself, and I really wanted to experience living in a different culture for awhile. With that in mind, I applied to serve with Mennonite Central Committee, or, MCC. MCC is an international organisation committed to peace, development, and relief in the name of Christ. Currently, MCC has over one thousand workers serving around the world, and provides material resources, education, and financial support to numerous communities both in North America and abroad. If you're interested in knowing more about MCC, check out their website: http://mcc.org.

.

.

MCC has a short-term service program for young adults entitled SALT, Serving and Learning Together (More about SALT can be found at: http://salt.mcc.org/). Through this program, I spent the last year living and working in a small village in southern Uganda. Uganda is a small country in East Africa, home to more than thirty different tribes and at least as many dialects. Formerly a British protectorate, Uganda has been an independent republic since 1962. Thus, the national language is English, although children usually only begin learning this when they start school.

.

I lived in Bukoto village, just south of the equator in the Buganda kingdom of southern Uganda, among the Baganda tribe. I was assigned to work as a teacher in St Jude Junior School, a primary school overseen by the local Catholic parish, which currently has a little over 300 students. I taught English grammar, comprehension, and composition in Primary 4, 5, 6, and 7 – the Ugandan equivalent to 4^th, 5^th, 6^th, and 7^th grade. I also lived with a host family in the village, studied the local language, Luganda, and built relationships with people throughout my community.

.

Some of you are aware that I will be returning to Uganda again at the end of next month. I will be signing a new three year contract with MCC, but I will not be returning to the same community. Instead, I will be living in Gulu, a town in AcholiLand in northern Uganda, and working at St Monica's Vocational School for Girls. For those of you who have heard of the Lord's Resistance Army, Joseph Kony, and night commuters, this is the area where the LRA began abducting children many years ago.

.

At this point, communities in northern Uganda are working to rebuild their lives and communities after years of fear and violence. MCC partners with organisations like St Monica's to promote peace training and help individuals learn the skills necessary to rebuild their lives. I will be working as a preschool teacher and providing training in child development to young women, as well as building relationships with the amazing sisters, teachers, and students who form the community of St Monica's. [St. Monica's website, where I also copied the picture below from, is: http://www.stmonicagulugirlsrelief.org/].

.

.

Now that I've told you a little about how I came to live and work in Uganda for the last year, I'd like to briefly share some reflections about what this experience has taught me, focusing especially on a single Luganda word.

.

Many months ago, only a few weeks into my stay in Uganda, a professor friend of mine sent me a question that I've been reflecting on ever since. She was writing an article for a college publication about young adults involved in service work, and she was looking for first-hand reflections. In two or three sentences, she challenged me, describe how working for social change changing you.

.

I begged off, more than a bit intimidated by the question but also aware that I had not yet spent enough time in Uganda to do it justice. My friend found other more able to voice their reflections, but her question stayed on my mind. To be honest, I did know how to answer it, and a few months later, when MCC asked me to reflect on what single word captured the essence of my service year, the same thought came to mind.

.

Webale.

.

.

Translated into English, webale means thank you. It's one of the first things I learnt to say in Luganda, and it's definitely in the “top 3 phrases I used all the time”--the others being “sitegedde” (I have not understood you) and “ki?” (what?). I know my mother taught me to say “please” and “thank you” – those were the “magic words” of my childhood. But gratitude took on an entirely new dimension as I immersed myself in baganda culture.

.

Throughout my year in Uganda, I had a notebook where I would write notes every time I met with my language tutor. Looking back through it, it charts my progress from spelling simple words phonetically to conjugating new verbs and eventually reading the scripture at my farewell mass in Luganda. As you can see, this notebook has been well-used.

.

.

When I first arrived in Uganda, the schools were on holiday between terms, so the younger children of my host family—who are boarders during the school term—were home. While a couple of the kids were originally shy of me, my cousin Hafisah and my brothers Mutagubya and Pinto were not. All three took it as their to teach me to communicate in their native tongue. Pinto, who was 2 at the time, taught me body parts before I had finished two days in the village; then we learnt numbers together. Then seven year old Muta was eager to learn English and patient with my slow progress, so we'd engage in many “broken language” conversations.

.

.

But it was twelve year old Hafisah who first sat with me and helped me write new terms in my notebook. In a box on page 1, partway through my first full day in the village, she and I recorded some essential Luganda phrases:

How are you? – oliotya?

Fine. – jendi.

My names are ____ – amannya gange _____.

Thank you. – webale.

Obviously, my cousin considered "thank you" an essential part of my vocabulary.

.

The next day, I met with my language tutor for the first time, and we spent an hour discussing polite greetings: How are you? How have you passed the day? How did you spend the night? I'm fine. I'm not fine. Though—it would be many weeks before I would ever have confidence to say I wasn't fine and face the onslaught of questions regarding my well-being.

.

There is also, however, an essential part of the Luganda greeting which may sound strange to you when I translate it into English: “Webale emirimu” – “Thank you for the work you are doing.” This phrase, or some variation of it, is part of even the most basic greeting: part of formal introductions and casual encounters, what I say to friends I meet on the road and vendors selling vegetables in the market. Walking through the village, waving to people I know, this is the simple, “hey, how's it going?” – thanks for what you do. It's impossible to keep track of how many times in a day I would thank – or be thanked – in this manner. It became natural to me, something I didn't generally think about, although there were a few exceptions to this rule.

.

.

There were a few men in the community that I would encounter on a regular basis who would almost always be at least slightly intoxicated. Some days, I did not want to thank these men for “what they were doing;” I would have preferred to tell them to straighten up and contribute to the general welfare of the community. But, according to cultural norms, I would bite my tongue and greet them properly: “thank you for what you do.” It took a lot at times to express appreciation for people that I didn't really want to appreciate – and I think it taught me something about the general worth and importance of all individuals. These men weren't necessarily making positive decisions when I encountered them, and I might have been hardpressed to identify what I considered to be meaningful contributions they were making at that moment, but overall, they were members of the community, and that in and of itself was reason enough to appreciate them.

.

Of course, Baganda don't just thank each other as part of their greeting: they also use webale to express appreciation in general. For example, just like us in America, Baganda thank those who do nice things, give them gifts, or teach them how to do something well. Most of my experience with this occurred in my classroom. Children are taught to greet their teachers very formally. Every time I entered a classroom, I would be greeted: “You are most welcome, dear Auntie Kristine” by a roomful of children of children standing respectfully.

.

.

At the conclusion of an hour period, as I gathered my books to leave and the next subject teacher prepared to enter, my students would stand again: “Thank you for teaching us. We appreciate your lesson.” While I think these gestures could become formulaic at times, my students were (almost always) sincerely glad for the lessons I taught them – and they expressed that gratitude in other ways as well.

.

Whereas American teachers are traditionally supposed to be given shiny red apples, I received whatever was in season. In our tropical climate, this was almost always something. Avocadoes, maize, mangoes, sugarcane, pumpkin, passion fruit, bananas, papaya, jackfruit, eggs, milk, grasshoppers. Often, I would have a small collection of fruit to share with other teachers at breakfast – though, they often got the same treatment. In shy messages or with broken pens, my students expressed the same message: Auntie, thank you for teaching us good English. Thank you for coming to Uganda.

.

.

When I used money donated by my supporters, including this church, to buy new school materials and uniforms for our neediest students, the parents joined the appreciating. Morethan once, I received a live chicken or a bunch of matooke, the green banana which is the staple food of southern Uganda. Shopkeepers in our village would give me a discount, and people I didn't know would thank me for teaching their children.

.

.

If you can imagine, all this thanking felt strange and a little over the top to me at first. Here in America, we are more reserved with our gratitude. We send thank you notes or offer a private word of appreciation. We go out of our way not to make a show out of what someone has done for us. We give anonymously so others don't feel indebted to us.

.

I tried that once – giving anonymously. The first time I put a few thousand shillings, equivalent to a couple dollars, on a child's school fees tab, I made the bursar, a friend of mine, promise not to tell her who paid it. She thought I was so strange – but she agreed. Nevertheless, before supper that night, the child's guardian came and thanked me. I learnt a valuable lesson that night about gratitude: there is a dignity that people, especially poor people, have when they can express heartfelt appreciation to their benefactors without feeling burden to repay what has been done. Sometimes I fear that our American custom of anonymous charity strips people of this dignity.

.

Eventually, I became more used to the Baganda way of expressing gratitude. The items on the table below were gifts from students, parents, and other community members as I was leaving Bukoto. The basin of eggs and multiple fresh pineapples, however: those I left for my host family to eat!

.

.

I want to talk a little now about another aspect of the Baganda appreciation customs that continued to feel strange to me, even after a year of living with it. Baganda thank each other for everything! Remember how I told you that “thank you for the work you do” is a part of thebasic greeting? That's barely the beginning of the “thank you for ___”s I got used to hearing on a regular basis. People get more specific, too: Thank you for digging. Thank you for repairing vehicles. Thank you for washing clothes.

.

.

This last one always made sense to me when it was directed at the dry cleaner who lived next door to us. It was amusing and at times a bit annoying, however, when random visitors to my compound thanked me for washing my own clothes or bathing my little brother or tending the cook fire, things I did regularly. I generally tried to just accept their appreciation and continue with my work.

.

Two more specific “thank you for ___”s stick out to me, both for the amusement and for the lessons they taught me. The first, webale kutudde bulungi, is always said to guests at parties or ceremonies; it is even the first part of the song traditionally performed for the king. To be honest, I should probably have said it to you when I first began speaking this morning.

.

.

Webale kutudde bulungi means “Thank you for sitting well.”

.

It's a way of thanking people for coming, for listening to and watching what will be presented, and yes, for sitting well. It reminds the audience of their value and warns the host to be aware of the time and engagement the guests are investing.

.

So let me tell you all now: thank you for sitting well. Thank you for listening and looking at my pictures. You make a much more interesting audience than a room full of cold pews would.

.

The second phrase is one I would usually hear at least once a day. Webale kusima. Here's an example of it's usage. At the end of supper, after some good-natured banter about how “little” I had eaten, I would always tell my host mother, “webale kufumba,” “thank you for cooking.”

.

.

Her response, “webale kulya,” “thank you for eating,” would inevitably invite my closing reply, “webale kusima,” “thank you for appreciating.”

.

Just in case you missed this, let me say it again: Baganda value gratitude so much that they even have a phrase to thank people for thanking them.

.

Webale kusima. Thank you for appreciating. It's used all the time, too. Thank you for coming. Oh, thank you for appreciating. Thank you for pounding the groundnuts. Thanks for appreciating. Thatk you for dancing. Oh yes, thank you for appreciating.

.

.

Sometimes, I was talking in Luganda to strangers outside my village, I would use this phrase. More than once, I got a shocked reaction, “That is deep Luganda!” They meant that I had used a phrase and conveyed a meaning that is fundamental to their culture – but not often grasped by foreigners. I understand where they're coming from. Before living in Uganda, I didn't thank, or even feel appreciation toward, people nearly as much as I learnt to among the Baganda.

.

And, I surely never would have considered thanking someone simply for thanking me.

.

But for the last year, I have been appreciated on a regular basis. I have been thanked for who I am and what I do, for learning and trying and teaching and yes, for sitting well. I have been appreciated – and I have learnt to appreciate. My students, my family, my friends, strangers whose lives intersect with mine at a street corner or in a crowded taxi. I have thanked people for their work despite knowing nothing about them – and in doing so, I have learnt to more fully appreciate the simple fact of their existence. I think, perhaps, learning to do so has changed the way I think about people.

.

.

Appreciating that everyone has something to contribute to the community, be it meaningful work, washing one's own clothes, or simply sitting well, makes it a lot harder to overlook or judge people who are different from myself. Being appreciated so often and openly has also affected my perception of myself, I think, reminding me that even when I don't feel like I'm making a difference in the world, the very fact of my existence has meaning.

.

As I close today, I want to thank you, sincerely, for listening and reflecting on this topic with me today. I don't have any fresh fruit or live chickens to pass out, but I hope you will feel appreciated. As we leave this place, I would encourage you to continue to reflect on this concept of gratitude as you think about people and places in your life where you could perhaps be more appreciative.

.

Webale nnyo. Kati, tugende mw'embirembe. Katonda mukuume.

[Thank you very much. Now, let us go in peace. God keep you.]