Capstone...

Now that I have been home for a month and my last blog entry was at the beginning of April, I don't know how many people will actually read this. However, today was the first time I went back through my Uganda stuff since I have been home. I read over my Capstone paper before I left for church this morning. My initiative came from my grandparents Sunday school class. Today was the day I shared with the class about my time in Uganda...thank you for having me! Once I read it, I thought it was necessary to post again.

Preface...this was my final paper with the Uganda Studies Program. As I was writing it I really wanted to put my heart into it. This was the result...

“Father prepare my heart. What will I see? What will I experience? Who will I love? What will I struggle with? Oh Jesus, look at me. Here I am sitting in my warm bed, looking around at these four walls nicely trimmed with pure white paint, with everything I ever wanted in this life thinking I know anything, something, about life. People are dying, worse than that, evil is killing them. How will it change? How do we bring peace? How do we fight back? Father, this sorrow and confusion will face me for many months to come. I can’t decide if I am blessed or cursed. Blessed- yes, to have found and experienced your love and love from family and friends. Cursed- yes, to be walking around this world with blind eyes believing I can see. I believe that I am right. I have believed that I have deserved the luxury I bathe in. Will I constantly be in this state the rest of my life? Of being confused about life’s problems? Maybe I should be. Maybe I am sick of these pill popper answers that we feed each other so that we can sleep peacefully. STOP WAR, STOP INJUSTICE, WORK MIRACLES, FALL ON OUR KNEES. -Journal entry December 24h, 2007.

            Coming to Uganda I had high expectations as to how this season of my life would change me, some were shattered and others were fulfilled beyond imagination. Months beforehand I was praying and seeking guidance from the Lord. What will I see? I have seen poverty face to face. I have seen what it takes for a developing country to survive in the 21^st century entrenched in globalization. I have learned the lifestyle of Ugandans- their history, culture, relations within society. And I have seen the impact of the conflicts in the North. We have been firmly nudged into understanding HIV/AIDS, debt, foreign aid, and trade. In the classroom, I spent the term living under constant intimidation and vulnerability, clinging to the hope that we might find a speck of light at the end of the dark tunnel.

“Everyone knows what poverty is. When we see its images on television or hear its stories, we recognize poverty with ease. We need to begin by reminding ourselves that poverty is the condition of people whom we describe abstractly as ‘the poor.’ Referring to people by a label is always dangerous. We may forget that the poor are not an abstraction but rather a group of human beings who have names, who are made in the image of God, whose hairs are numbered, and for whom Jesus died. The people who live in poverty are as valued, as important, as loved as those who do not.

Why is this reminder important? The world tends to view the poor as a group that is helpless; thus we give ourselves permission to play god in the lives of the poor. The poor become nameless, and this invites us to treat them as objects of our compassion, as a thing to which we can do what we believe is best. We, the non-poor, take it upon ourselves to name them- homeless, destitute, indigenous, working poor, and so on. Talking about the poor as an abstract noun invites well-intentioned people of compassion to speak for the poor and to practice the latest fads in social engineering. The poor become the custodians of the state, objects of professional study, or a social group to be organized. Whenever we reduce poor people from names to abstractions we add to their poverty and impoverish ourselves” (Myers, 57-58).

            This speaks straight to the core of me and it brings great conviction. It seems that the more I see the horror in objectifying poverty, the more I begin turning the finger around towards myself. My whole life I have objectified poverty. I am realizing that I hold a hand in creating poverty or at the very least I am neglecting to do anything about it. I always looked at people on the side of the street and said “awww poor them.” The very second I felt guilt for them I made that person an object. That person who has a story to tell and a name worth knowing, I added him or her to my book of stereotypes of poor people. In my world, I think many of us purposely distance ourselves from that ‘other’ world so we don’t have to know their life story. Either consciously or subconsciously we do this because we don’t want to become associated with “them.” Maybe because then we would learn what real conviction is and actually be compelled to do something about it. Helping the poor has nothing to do with putting spare change in the offertory and it has nothing to do with paying thirty dollars a month to a child you have never met and never plan to so you can feel better about fulfilling your Christian duty. Helping the poor has to do with sacrifice not money management.

Non-violence is the answer to the crucial political and moral questions of our time. The need for man to overcome oppression and violence without resorting to violence and oppression.- Billy Graham

            My homestays drastically changed my opinion of “the poor.” Why? Because I lived with real people with real stories, and now I am apart of those stories. I walked to the water well with them, I cooked with them, I cleaned with them, I visited their children’s graves, I sat in the shade basking in the serenity found in being still, and I shed tears of farewell, I was present. What now? The infamous question hovering over my head. I’m not entirely sure. What I do know is that it first starts on the inside. My roommate, Lindsey D. has talked many times throughout the semester about the importance of identifying our biases. I will agree with her, I think that is my first baby step. I need to practice living a normal life again in my middle of nowhere town I call home. It is there I will be able to find my weaknesses. I need to walk downtown and be among the inner city kids. I want to be present with those coming from broken homes and share the redemptive powers that Christ used within my broken home. I realize that I live in a different world, but as I have come to believe here, there is an indefinable beauty that comes with two worlds colliding. I know that even in the United States I will have to cross cultural barriers, but if I can do that in Mukono, Uganda, I know the Lord will give me the perseverance to face the challenge in Bixby, Oklahoma. Before I came to Uganda, I had a very difficult time putting myself out into my own community to serve. Give me a hut in Africa, but don’t ask me to lead Vacation Bible School. I remember using the excuse that I am called to serve overseas, local ministry wasn’t my gift. Forgive me, Father. If I walk away with anything from Uganda, it is to step out of myself, my class, my gender, my race and be present among those different from me. Is that not what Christ did to the ultimate degree? He stepped out of Heaven to live amongst people who loved and despised Him, enough to crucify Him.

            I also question if I have experienced desensitization while here. For example, one my first experiences with poverty were from the kids on the side of the road asking for money. My heart was torn at the sight. After months of being exposed to this, I walk through Kampala able to overlook the cripples and the beggars. That doesn’t seem like something Christ would do. Yes, I have grown a new understanding of poverty and how to be effective when addressing poverty. But I can’t help but wonder if the theories of effectiveness are cop-outs to appease our conscious. Each new time I pass by, that little flicker of compassion in me fades. I was in Kampala yesterday, now it’s almost gone. That’s not okay with my heart.

I have come to give you life and to show you how to live it. I have come to make things right to heal their ears and to show you how to forgive them. Because I would rather die, I would rather die, I would rather die than to take your life. Because how can I kill the ones I’m supposed to love. My enemies are men like me. So I will protest the sword if it’s not wielded well, because my enemies are men like me. Peace by way of war is like purity by way of fornication. It’s like telling someone murder is wrong and then showing them by way of execution. I would rather die, I would rather die, I would rather die than to take your life. When justice is bought and sold just like weapons of war, the ones who always pay are the poorest of the poor. So how can I kill the one’s I’m supposed to love? My enemies are men like me. –Lyrics by Derek Webb

From an outside perspective Simple Living is an example I hope to set. Plain and simple, I live an extravagant life, full of stuff. If I come to that realization and I take the next step to rid myself of the things I do not need, I know eventually I will backslide. My surroundings consist of other people who also live extravagantly. Before I stop drinking coffee and buying clothes, and begin carpooling, I aim to seek the inner simplicity first. “The central point for the Discipline of simplicity is to seek the kingdom of God and the righteousness of his kingdom first and then everything necessary will come in its proper order….Nothing must come before the kingdom of God, including the desire for a simple life-style” (Foster, 185).

Poverty is so hard to see when it’s only on your TV or 20 miles across town. Where we’re all living so good, we moved out of Jesus’ neighborhood, where he’s hungry and not feeling so good from going through our trash. He says, More than just your cash and coin I want your time, I want your voice. I want things you just can’t give me.

 So what must we do? Here in the West, we want to follow you. We speak the language and we keep all the rules, even a few we made up.

-Come on and follow me, sell your house, sell your SUV, sell your stocks, sell your security and give it to the poor.

 Well, what is this? What’s the deal? I don’t sleep around and I don’t steal.

-I want the things you just can’t give me. Because what you do to the least of these, my brothers you have done it to me. Cause I want the things you just can’t give me.- lyrics by Derek Webb

            Throughout this semester, our field trips have made a significant impact on me, especially in relation to the way I view the outside world. I prayed for this, I wanted my prejudices to be put into perspective. But this was not enough. I remember coming back from my first tea over at Cindy’s house after we discussed poverty, an obviously central theme for me, feeling hopeless. I was in utter confusion on how to address such a sensitive subject. I doubted my place in Africa, in Uganda, if there was even a reason for me to serve overseas anymore. I felt like I might be doing more harm than good being in Africa. The more I learned about social, economic, and political problems stemmed from this issue, the more I strayed from a solution. When I am in those moods I start thinking out loud. I came back to my room where Amanda Eicher and one of my Ugandan friends, Sara, were in the room hanging out. I began venting my state of confusion. I recall looking at Sara and asking her if we should even be in Uganda. Would it be better if we had never come? Am I even making a difference in anyone’s life? Sara looks me straight in the face and says, “Tara all you can do is be Tara. If you leave here and you feel you haven’t affected anybody, know that C087 is changed because of you. If your only purpose for coming to Uganda was to affect the girls in our room, you have accomplished your purpose.” After Sara said that, my burden was released. I could breathe again. I knew that I had made a difference in someone’s life through my presence. If we only had the experiences without the relationships, we missed the jewel. Of course I will look back and take to heart the IDP camp, the traditional healer visit, the Parliament sitting, and all our classes learning about African literature, politics, religions, etc., but Lucy, Gloria, Sara, Becky, Grace, Tamara, Winnie, Lydia, Andrew, Bush, Tension, Paul, Tim, Freddy, Edgar, Josh, Simon, Davis, Patience, Brenda, Rachel, Paolo, and Robert are the ones that will last. Soroti was one of the best experiences in Uganda, not because it was in the villages and I slept in a hut, but because for five days my family and I invested in each others life.

One night I spent two hours talking with my friend Lydia about reasons why Africans are not very emotionally in tune, especially the women. This whole time I have struggled with moving beyond the surface with Ugandan girls. That night, I realized the issue had nothing to do with shyness, but was rooted in the role given to an African woman. If her husband beats her, what can she do? She depends on her husband to survive. There is no point in pouring salt on a wound by analyzing her emotional state. There is no room for it, so emotions are pushed to the back of their minds.

Another afternoon, my roommates and I received the blessing of praying comfort over our friend Tamara. Tamara walked into our room with tears in her eyes after getting into an argument with her father. Moments spent in prayer always bring those involved closer together.

Yesterday was I Love Lucy Day. I spent the entire day with my dear friend Lucy. We ate lunch at her father’s restaurant in Kampala, took photos at a professional studio, and then drove to her home town Entebbe. We stopped by the zoo, where we took pictures of the monkeys cleaning each others butts. Lucy would grasp my hand tightly when we came up to the lion’s cage and then she ran away screaming when she heard animal calls in the distance. However, we didn’t hesitate to take pictures all over the park. We made our way down to the beach on the shores of Lake Victoria, collecting sea shells in between the tides. That evening I met her Jaja and Auntie Carol. The four of us strolled down the streets of Entebbe talking and laughing until we made it to the stage where we took a taxi back to town. Before heading back to Mukono, we ended the night with a cup of ice cream, and then Lucy fell asleep on my lap in the taxi on the ride back to campus. These are only a few of the memories that will remain imprinted on me for years to come.

How would it be if we would see with our hearts? How would it be if you and me through our love could improve the world? It would be a sweet expression of love. How does it feel when you reveal to someone that they have found a friend? How does it feel when someone whispers your name? It feels like a sweet expression of love. Expressions of love can’t deny even when we say goodbye and just when it feels like loves at an end, it comes back again, like the sun in spring. That’s the way of everything. Here’s to hope and time. –lyrics by Raul Midon

I have been spending the last few hours reading over my journals and blog entries and reading packets in efforts to recap the last four months. Not just for this paper, but also for my own purposes I need to know how this journey has affected and changed me. It is amazing to see how the Lord has prepared my heart before even stepping on Ugandan soil. In writing these kinds of papers, the only channel into my heart is from my fingertips onto sticky keys into a little white box. Uganda has had such a dramatic impact on me in ways I doubt I have the eloquence to articulate, I hope this little white sheet of paper can give justification for the depths of my heart.

Put simply, I have learned that development cannot be accomplished with a quick fix presented by more privileged, developed countries. Development is a complex system that took Europe thousands of years and shouldn’t be expected of Africa in a few decades. Africa belongs to Africans. Poverty is a relative term that should be removed from my vocabulary when speaking of human beings. Exploitation is not okay and should be fought against through individual presence. This is not a sappy, happy ending; it is realizing that there are people in the world suffering from corruption, war, hunger, disease, abuse, witchcraft, rape, mysticism, malnourishment, but the people of Uganda are children of the Most High God and they deserve a good life.

Mission Statement:

Over the next two years, as I continue to seek guidance as to what my future career looks like, I will keep in mind the people I encountered in Uganda, reminding myself that my actions and decisions have repercussions on the world around me. At this point I do not know what the future holds or the exact steps that will bring me there, but I do plan to love extravagantly. Only by the grace and power of Christ will I use what I have learned to move in a direction worthy and pleasing to God.

still enraptured by Uganda,

Tara Michelle Ryan

Chillin' out maxim relaxin' & coolin'...

Hello loved ones and possible random people browsing Xanga!

So it’s been over two weeks, about time for me to update. You know originally I had in mind to write on my blog at least every week. A lot of things are different here in Africa. It is possible this might be one of the more boring and uneventful blogs, so I’m going to spice it up as much as possible!

These days are spent mainly at school and usually the weekends are filled with some sort of activities. It is accurate to say that this is the time in the semester when people are getting a bit homesick. Not because we don’t like Uganda, but because home is so close and we are just chilling at the university.

Okay so the weekend following my last blog, our group spent a Saturday in Lowero a few hours away. We visited a HIV/AIDS community center where about 20-30 women and children lived and were supported by a Ugandan family. Basically we just played with them all day long. The children sang and danced for us. We in return had prepared some fun little skits for them. Some of the families shared their testimonies with us as well. Going into it, I was a little hesitant because at that point in time I was so emotionally drained and I was afraid of possibly breaking down when I met people suffering from AIDS. By the grace of God, it was the opposite. The entire day was filled with joy and laughter…it was beautiful, the kids were beautiful. I think the thing I enjoyed the most, besides singing and dancing, was how we were able to serve them lunch. Traditionally in Uganda, the guests should expect to be spoiled, but this day we were given the privilege of loving on them.

The next day on Sunday, I went to go visit my home sisters Flavia and Sara at their boarding school. It is really nice because there school is really close to my university. It warmed my heart to see them running towards me when I arrived. They didn’t know I was coming so it was a REALLY good surprise. I brought college information for my sister Flavia because she is graduating from Secondary school this year and she wants to go to a university in the U.S. We all had lunch together and it just so happened that day the school was packed with hundreds of kids from other schools because there was a big futbol game going on, it was fun to watch a little bit of that.

The entire next week I spent dancing almost every night, it was great! If you know me you know I love to dance and I had two performances within the next week. I have spent the whole semester being involved with a ministry called Survivor. It is a dance ministry that performs every couple of weeks a different style of dance, our choice for this week was hip-hop and ballet.  The ministry aspect of it is to provide “entertainment” for students on campus in place of them going to clubs or bars or something. The sad part was that I have been so busy with the program every weekend that I was never able to perform before, I would just go to practice. Now Ugandans know how to dance really well, they have natural rhythm, but ballet is not one of their strongest points. So for about six weeks or so we have been working on a turns and jumps and partner lifting. It was AWESOME! Yes, I got sick of practicing the same dance over and over, but when we got on stage, everyone danced beautifully and the crowd went wild.

After Survivor Saturday night, I spent all of Sunday learning another lyrical dance we made up for the Chapel on Monday. Every semester, USP is given a Community Worship to plan. I am so proud of our group, we did so good. We really did just worship the Lord. Four other girls and I performed a dance to the song, “It’s all about you, Jesus.” Our group made up a band and sang about three worship songs, one of which was in Luganda. ( they loved that!) We also did a “dramatic interpretation” of the creation story to the song “Bring Me to Life” by Evanescence. I was a tree in the Garden of Eden. Overall it was so amazing!

This past Saturday we went rafting on the Nile River. Let me just say it again…rafting on the Nile, the longest river in the world! Ahhhh! It was incredible. All afternoon, 27 kilometers, we were fighting Grade 4 and 5 rapids…which by the way the US only have up to Grade 3. It was EXTREME. I flew out a couple of times, which grew to be my favorite part! Man, I love extreme sports, I love the adrenaline rush. I almost went bungee jumping into the Nile to add the icing on top of my day, but I was lacking the dinero. It’s okay though.  Our incredibly hott rafting guides with dreads were icing enough!! J/K However I did have to pay a price, me—a fair, Irish girl in the African sun all day doesn’t mix so well. Side note: I really want to go skydiving again when I come back so friends lets plan it!

Now I can’t avoid mentioning my African parasite. Some of you have already heard that I have been a little sick for the past few weeks. I am here just to set the record straight about this not so lovely illness. Yes, I have a parasite called Giardia, and yes I did get it from ingesting feces in some form or fashion, probably through food or water. My roommates have already been so kind as to email out prayer requests for what is known amidst my room as the “farting disease.” It just so happens that my symptoms include excessive belching and flatulence!!! Laugh it up! My roommates have been milking the jokes for awhile now. But really it sucked and to top it off it was really embarrassing. I had a lot of nausea and stomach cramps as well which added to the intense discomfort. I think the peak of my embarrassment was when I had to carry a stinky stool to the doctor’s office to get tested! I am all better now. It was really funny when my roommates found out that Giardia is highly contagious, I kind of know how lepers feel. I hope you are not entirely grossed out now, if so, I apologize!

This week I took a couple field trips. On Monday I ventured to Kampala to listen to the weekly Jam Sessions. It was so cool, an entirely different culture than I have experienced in Uganda thus far. Bob Marley is all I can say to explain it—Africans and whites with awesome dreads, smoking and drinking, as we all listened and danced to Reggae and Jazz music. I made a few new friends and avoided the creepy guys smiling at me! On Tuesday we sat in on a debate in Parliament. This was so interesting, however I was a little surprised at how rude some of them were. It was ordered, but within that structure, there was disorder. They liked to interrupt each other to prove their point. I’m sure Congress is like that too. And the next day I read about the debate in the paper. Something that I would have overlooked on a normal day, I was engaged simply because I was there and heard it myself.

These days we have been studying Simple Living, something I am very interested in, but know very little about. Basically we have been discussing what it means to live a simple life for the Kingdom of God. Along with that is the idea that our lives reflect the beliefs we hold. Simple Living was added after we studied structural injustices. I had no idea how much our day to day lives indirectly affect the poor and oppressed around the world. One of my goals when I get back is to find out more about structural injustices. I want to know about trade and everything that goes with that-- Clothes, fair trade coffee, food, etc. Along with food, I want to learn about the agriculture system. The United States is the largest consumer country in the world. Some days after leaving class, I want to shout don’t buy coffee unless it is fair trade, don’t buy sweat-shop clothes, don’t eat burgers bigger than a quarter pound, don’t support industrial agriculture simply because I have learned that these can create injustice for others. But I can’t. Why? Well first, I really don’t know enough about these topics to give an educated opinion. Also, my goal is not to start another trend where everyone hops on the bandwagon to fight for poverty around the world, but they really know very little about what the cause is. So many times people stand up against injustices but are unwilling to make life changes or they are doing it just because every one around them is. These days it’s cool to protest for a good cause and it has nothing to do with true conviction. I’m not going to pretend that my simple action of refuting Wal-Mart will change the lives of those laboring below a dollar a day. But I do believe that my actions are a mirror into my heart. If I have been made aware of these injustices, but continue my lifestyle that is creating the oppression, what does that say about me as a person and more about my faith as a Christian? Is it not our mandate as Christians to care for the poor? Also, it is important to realize that people are convicted to carry out this calling in different ways.

So now what? Well it says a lot to say that I will be on a plane a month from now, that is not long at all. By the way you are all invited to the airport, I will be landing in the Tulsa Airport on Sunday, May 6^th I think around 3:00. I will verify that because I’m not so sure. So everyone can just go to church on Sunday, praise the Lord, eat lunch and fellowship, and then come to the airport! Sounds like a plan! I leave Uganda Christian University in two weeks. Some of my classes are finished this week. I have two out of five classes continuing, 8 papers remaining, and three finals. Whew! On April 20^th we leave Mukono and drive to Rwanda, spend a week there, come back to Uganda, stay in Entebbe and debrief 4 days before we leave on May 4^th.  CRAZY! Almost every day here at the university, friends are asking when I am leaving; this is truly the meaning of bitter/sweetness. I am going to miss my friends so much. I may never see some of them again, that really hurts my heart. Even though it is really hard for me not to be thinking about coming home I have to keep reminding myself to focus on here and now.

My list of things I want to do before I leave campus:

1. Picnic with girls on my hall… taking place on Monday.
2. weekend with my dear friend Lucy…taking place on Saturday and probably next weekend also.
3. worship on Monkey Hill
4. dance parties
5. futbol game between Honours College and USP
6. visit Invisible Children headquarters…maybe tomorrow.
7. talent show production
8. bonfire
9. practice the art of slashing
10. send pictures to my Soroti family
11. in the process of thinking of more

I am learning to enjoy the small moments within these last couple of weeks. I really want to soak it up. I don’t want to regret my time here. I really plan on diving into these Ugandans. I love them so much.

Side note: I think I have some major cavity action!

Okay, I think that is all I can squeeze from my brain at the moment. Tomorrow is Good Friday. I don’t know about you, but I’m really excited. I love Easter. I hope you spend this week with friends and family. Dive in, you don’t know if you will be gone the next time family gets together. One thing, I have really learned since being here is the value of family and friends. I will be spending this Easter with my Mukono family, not the same, but will suffice.

As always, I love you so, so much. Please don’t forget I’m still alive!

Happy Passion Week.

Redeemed by Christ,

Tara Michelle

Adventures...

Yoga! (Hello in Ateso)

As of today I am fluent in one language-my native tongue- and I know very little from five other languages…Spanish from high school, French from college (thanks Mr. Kalami!), SiSwati from Swaziland, Luganda from central Uganda, and as of this last week Ateso from the Teso tribe. Ok I know I’m tooting my own horn, but in all honesty I only know like three words from each language!

…Hola, Bonjour, Sonni bonnani, Oleotia, and Yoga!

I hope everything is going splendid back home! I hear that Spring is slowly but surely approaching. Once again I want to say thank you for keeping in touch with me, it really has meant so much to me. You have no idea how much it becomes a competition around here when mail is being passed out. I was so happy when I received mail this week!! Thanks!! I am doing my best to send letters and emails and blogs all updated…bare with me if it takes awhile! I really do think of you all the time. I just love you all!!

Ok so I will start where I left off last time. A few weeks ago a group of us visited the Kusubi Tombs, this is where the kings of the Buganda tribe are buried…very neat. Even though today the Buganda king doesn’t technically have any political power, there is great reverence and respect for him. It is obvious that he holds strong influence among the Buganda tribe. Just quick note: tribalism in Africa is extremely important; it is at the core of who they are. It seeps into every aspect of the country- economics, politics, relationships, etc. Uganda is made up of several tribes and they are separated mostly by region. Since I am here in the central part, many Ugandans are Muganda from the Buganda tribe. If any of you decide to travel to Africa any time in the future ask someone what tribe they are from, it will strike an interesting conversation. I’m trying to learn how to tell a difference in the physical features and accents between people of different tribes. Ugandans can notice these within each other.

The week before last a group of us went to Kampala to see The Last King of Scotland. It was so cool to be sitting in a theater where two blocks down the road most of the footage was taken. I could recognize the food, the background, the transportation, the local lingo…it was cool. However I personally gave a low rating on the movie, I would not recommend it.

Now for the climax of the past two weeks…

Last Friday on the 2 of March, our entire team left campus to drive 6 hours Northeast to Soroti. Saturday we were dropped off at our individual homes to begin our rural, village home stays. Honestly going into it I was really nervous and hesitant. I was worried that I might have problems with my family and I would be out in the middle of nowhere. It was completely opposite… I ABSOLUTELY LOVE MY FAMILY. By far the best time I have had since I have been to Uganda. My family was made up of my Tata Petty- I called her Mama. My sister Rhoda; the first day she told me that her name was from the Bible in Acts…I looked it up, it’s true! Rhoda is 23 and she has an adorable son named Edwin. Edwin is 7 months old…so cute…he is teething! And I can’t forget my Papa. Papa was gone during the day working so I don’t think I ever saw his face in the light, but he was great. He liked to talk politics and tell me how much he liked Bush and that we should stop Iraq and Iran from using their mass weapons of destruction!! I told him I would talk to Bush and relay the message! Anyways the following is a list of some things I did while living with my family:

1.      slaughtered a chicken

2.      carried water on my head

3.      shelled g-nuts

4.      made chipate

5.      hoed for cassava

6.      carried cassava on my head

7.      ATE ALL THE TIME- its rude not to.

8.      ate chicken gizzard

9.      danced in church

I’m going to give a detailed description on what it is like to slaughter a chicken…sorry Rach! So the first day I arrived they told me it is custom for the guest to slaughter the chicken and the guest also gets the privilege to eat the gizzard (it’s a delicacy here). On Sunday after church my Tata told me it was time to kill one of their hens. I walk out and there is Anna holding the chicken by its feet- the adrenaline starts pumping. I was incredibly nervous. So we walk around to the back. They lay the chicken on the ground; I have to step on the feet with one foot and step on the wings with the other foot. My Tata hands me this blunt knife, she is holding the beak shut, and I grab the neck. I begin pretty much sawing with this dull knife. I cut about half way through, the chicken starts freaking out, and all the sudden THE CHICKEN POOPS ON MY FOOT!! By this time my adrenaline is skyrocketing, I freak out and hand the knife over to my Tata and she finishes it off for me. I know I punked out half way through…I’m okay with that! It was a traumatic experience for me. So by this time, I feel really nauseated and to make it worse I sat and watched my Tata cut the chicken into pieces. Needless to say it was eventful day. I would do it again though. Every time I look at a chicken now, I think to myself, “I could kill you!”

My Mama was the second wife of my Papa and she had an identical compound as that of the first wife. They were separated from each other though. Our compound was made up of four grass-thatched huts- one for storage, one for parties, one for Rhoda and Edwin, and one for the kitchen. I slept in a small house with my Papa and Tata. Most days we would sit on a mat outside on the porch talking and relaxing. It was beautiful. I reached a new level of peace and serenity. I just remember looking out over all the fields and crops and feeling such fulfillment for myself but also for my family. Most people would look at my home and consider my family to be in poverty. My Tata would even tell me that they were very poor. But to me, my family in the village has the ideal lifestyle. To me they have everything they need: lots of children, respect for each other, laughter, good food, clothes, enough money to educate their children up through university, acres and acres of land to grow crops. And they know the Lord, they are true worshippers.

Funny story: Sunday at church was great! The mzungus were the honored guests. When they began worship I started singing “Alligator Food” because I didn’t know the language. Then all of the sudden a 90 year old woman who was like 4 feet tall walked to the center of the church and began jumping up in down, dancing for the Lord. It was the cutest thing I have ever seen. Eventually that caused all the other women in the room to join in. My Mama came and grabbed me and now I was in a mash pit of African women dancing for the Lord! The service lasted from 9 in the morning until 1 in the afternoon. If the congregation didn’t have money to give for the offering, they gave food. At the end of the service they had some what of an auction to sell off the food and give the money to the church. It was beautiful to see how the community worked together to provide for each other.

Overall, my family was wonderful. They showed me so much love and hospitality. I can never repay them. And the worst part is that in honesty I don’t know if I will ever get the chance to see them again. But I seriously considered adopting Edwin!

We left our home stays on Wednesday and stayed overnight at a hostel in Soroti town. The next day ended up being much harder than I anticipated. We drove about three hours farther north into Amoria district where we visited an Internally Displaced Camp (IDP). This is where people who have been forced out of their homes either by the Karamojong or the Lord’s Resistance Army. They fled to this camp where some have been living now for over 10-20 years. It is hard for me to give you an accurate picture of what it was like. Yes, there were pop belly children wearing ripped clothes who had not eaten a healthy meal that day. Yes, the sight of these people broke my heart, but more than that it hurt when I looked into their eyes and saw hopelessness. I guess I figured going into it these people would be similar to my host family- poor, but happy and fulfilled. I didn’t want to feel guilt for them. But when I looked into their eyes, there was a lack of joy and contenment. I found the difference between my host family and the people in the IDP camp was the affect that war has not only on the body, but also on the soul. The leader of the camp told us a list of their needs within the camp: clean water, seeds to grow food, safety to go out and plant the crops, HIV/AIDS testing…just to name a few. This camp was abandoned; they had not received any aid, not from NGO’s or from their own government. We were able to talk with people who lived within the camp to understand how they are impacted by the conflict. Also we met and spoke with a group of people called the Peace Promoters. They were respected men within the community striving to bring peace within the camp either through domestic resolution or playing a role to help end the conflict with the Karamojong.

You might be wondering what is the conflict? I will share a brief overview. If you don’t already know about the LRA, they are a group of rebels who have caused war in Northern Uganda for 20 years now. They raid and massacre villages, sometimes raping women and kidnapping children and force them to be soldiers. As of today, the majority of the LRA is made up of once innocent children who were kidnapped and raised in the bush to be rebels. Right now, the LRA activity has subsided dramatically and most of the rebels are living in the Congo. There have been many “peace talks” and a large number of rebels are seeking amnesty from the government and going back home to their villages. The LRA reached Amoria district in 2003 causing people to flee their homes and end up in the IDP camps. However, as I said earlier, some people have been in this camp for 10-20 years. I learned that day about another large conflict that is affecting these people…raids from the Karamojong. The Karamojong is a tribe living in the region next to Amoria. They have purposely held onto strong traditional ties, remaining in many ways very warrior like. Within the tribe there is a belief that all the cattle in the world belong to them and it is their right to take back any cattle that others are raising. This causes enormous problems especially when cattle raising is a means of living. At the same time that Karamoja steal the cattle they are also killing many people. Villagers have lost their entire livelihood. The threat of the Karamojong has forced people to flee to the camps and is also preventing them from going back home.

Needless to say, the people in the IDP camps are stuck in a horrible situation. So coming to understand a little bit about the conflicts they are facing, it made it that much harder to deal with. I struggle with not knowing the proper way to respond. They now look to us to provide some form of relief because they know we have the resources. The problem is we don’t know what to do. It’s much more difficult than building a well. It’s much more difficult than passing out food for a day or maybe even for a month. If I help I want to help in such a way that they can live sustainable lives and not create a situation where they are dependent on the resources we provide. They tell us they want to go back to their villages and not live in fear of the Karamojong, but I don’t know how to provide that kind of security. So what do I do? As of now, I PRAY. I pray and I trust that the Lord hears my pleas for these beautiful faces. I believe that He cares for me just as much as He cares for them. Sometimes after looking into their eyes and knowing that they are also crying out to God, that is hard for me to believe. So I also beg of you, PRAY, seek conviction on how to help, seek wisdom and discernment to come up with the best possible solution.

After we left Soroti, our team spent the rest of the weekend at a camping lodge in Sipi Falls. Uganda has three waterfalls, all located here. We spent Friday and Saturday hiking the beautiful mountains of Uganda. I hiked to two of the three waterfalls. I felt like I was in a movie, it was so beautiful. We swam underneath the waterfall and I fell on some rocks and cut myself. It was worth the battle wound!

That pretty much wraps up the past two weeks, a lot of new things for sure. Now I am back chillin at the university, going to class, doing homework, spending time with Ugandans. The whole past week seems pretty surreal. It is weird to think that I have been here over two months now. We have 4 weeks left before finals, then off to Rwanda, then debrief, then HOME! Wow! The time flies!

I love you and miss you! I hope all is well! I am constantly in prayer for you! The Lord is doing miraculous things. My prayer is that we will open our eyes to see!

Continually seeking His will…

Tara

searching soul...

Hello everyone!

Yes, I’m alive and very well!

I want to thank all of my family and friends back home for being who you are. The longer I’m away the more I realize how immensely blessed I am. I really think that Oklahoma breeds one of a kind people. For those of you who have stayed in contact with me over the last couple of months….THANK YOU! I know this is cheesy, but it’s SO nice to be loved!

Ok so updating from the last blog…I’m not suffering from culture shock any more! I’m at a beautiful time in the trip; I’m slowly falling in love with this place and these people. I have reached a point now where I simply live day to day, life in Uganda is normal. No more radical adjustments to the culture. I have a set of Ugandan friends now that I am diving into, ministries I’m involved with, homework to do, and dancing to be done!

You know what? The Lord was really guiding my steps freshman year because I found an awesome study abroad program to be a part of. Yes, it’s small, but there are wise people here who know exactly how far to push us and the perfect activities for us to have the most enlightening Ugandan experience possible. I really respect USP and what they do for college students.

Anyways, what have I been up to? Well I will start with some of the trips we have taken. Two weekends ago, our team left with about 30 other Ugandan students for a retreat in Jinja. We stayed at a beautiful resort with a swimming pool. It is here I found out that most Ugandans cannot swim and it’s really hilarious to watch them try. That Saturday we took a small fisherman boat out to the source of the Nile River. That’s right, the same Nile River that Cleopatra bathed in! It was beautiful all the way up until the engine of the boat died and we got stranded on the water in the hottest day of the year. Village people living on the shore were looking at us like idiots! But we were eventually rescued.

Last Friday I went to go visit a traditional healer, what some people back home might recognize as a witchdoctor. However, I did find out there is a difference between the two. It was very interesting. We talked to the diviner while sitting in one of the shrines he had built for the ancestor spirits. Basically he told us that people from the village come to him for healing and when they come he is possessed by a spirit so he can carry out the healing ceremony. This description does not give justice to all of the details that come with understanding these spiritual practices. I have been studying African Traditional Religion for two months now and I am just scratching the surface. My first reaction is to judge these beliefs as wrong however after going to the diviner it is hard for me to be so cynical about something that is so real to the man sitting in front of me. I have learned that ATR practices are real and the spiritual realm is alive. However, the difficult part is putting it in line with Scripture without having a preconceived judgment.

Today I just got back from visiting a nearby mosque. Because we are woman and there were so many of us we had to sit outside. This made it difficult to observe the practices and also the service was taught in Luganda so we couldn’t understand what the man was saying. However it was a good experience even though I probably didn’t learn many new things.

A couple of weeks ago I began my service project. I’m teaching at a Primary school called St. Stephens. Ok I know this will make the blog fifty times longer, but for you to get the full picture of what I’ve been going through, I have decided to put the exert from one of my assignments that I wrote about my experience with my service project...

The first day of my service project to St. Stephens School gave me new insight into how education works in Uganda. During orientation at St. Stephens, the headmaster informed us that the school is government funded, however the children are still expected to provide fees for things like maintenance of the school property, food, and uniforms. In reality most of the students pay little to no money for these necessities, so the majority of them come to school in their torn work clothes and porridge is the meal of the day. Because the school is mainly for children in the nearby village, he understands that not everyone can afford the fees and often times the children will bring money as it comes. I think back now and I heard what he was saying but it was not until I came to teach the first day that I could see a closer glimpse into how poverty not only affects the kind of food they eat everyday, but poverty punctures the core of their education.

            After teaching science in a Primary 7 class this last Tuesday, I went into the headmaster’s office completely surprised to find posho and beans waiting for me. I was expecting porridge. After lunch, the headmaster took me to a different P7 class where he wanted me to do counseling. He asked me if I would talk to this group of thirty kids between the ages of 10-15 about the importance of education and time management. At first I was excited, I was thinking this is a great opportunity to talk about such important topics. Once I began talking, it slowly went down hill. I realized I was coming from a completely different world as these kids. How can I teach about time management when I don’t know what they do everyday? I can’t encourage them to get after school jobs because they spend their evenings helping out around the house. Everything I knew about time management only applied to my world. The sad part was that I began to figure this out as I was teaching.

After class I was blessed to talk to the teacher about the problems they face in their educational system. He told me that at schools like St. Stephen’s (government funded schools), education was mainly in theory, not practice. Especially in the sciences, they did not have enough money to supply the kids with practical items like books or experimentation resources. And because the kids would occupy their time maintaining their homes in the evenings, they did not have time to study. Even when it comes to English, they are learning a trait they do not have the opportunities to use. The teacher continued to tell me that the government is not of any help because it is too corrupt to direct the flow of money towards under funded schools like St. Stephens. He said that there is a large amount of kids who don’t even finish primary school. The boys leave to go find jobs and the girls get married.

This was my analysis of the experience…

My time at St. Stephen’s left me feeling hopeless. First off, I felt uncomfortable with the entire setup. I’m not qualified to be a teacher, but I was given this privilege simply because I’m a white American. I might be acting cynical, but the question crossed my mind, whose fee money was paying for my tasty lunch? Secondly, I realized that education in Uganda is an extremely difficult situation in the face of poverty. Numbers became reality when I grasped that St. Stephens is one of hundreds of schools that make up the 87 percent rural population and understanding its correlation to the mere 13 percent of boys, and 7 percent of girls who enroll in Secondary school (Legget, 1). I asked the class what their dreams were. One of the boys raised his hand and said he wanted to be a doctor. I asked him why and he responded “because I want to help people.” That small conversation was the highlight of my day. Then I began thinking about all the obstacles that boy would have to face along the way like the problems of poverty and the temptation to dropout before reaching secondary school. It occurred to me, why would these kids stay in school if they don’t see themselves becoming what they dream. Once they get old enough, they realize their education truly is in theory and that most of what the schools teach isn’t applicable for the life lying in front of them. St. Stephen’s doesn’t have the proper equipment to teach that young boy how to become a doctor and these families don’t have the kind of money it takes to send their children to a university. In America, we have dreams, and we are taught that if we work hard enough we can achieve those dreams. Education looks completely different when freedom is much harder to come by. As I was standing there speaking to these beautiful creations of God, would they believe me if I told them that education allows you to be whatever you want to be? This experience really hits home with the words of Bryant Myers, “We may forget that the poor are not an abstraction but rather a group of human beings who have names, who are made in the image of God, whose hairs are numbered, and for whom Jesus died” (93). Or in my own words, I cannot forget that the poor are not abstractions, but rather people with names that carry dreams and hopes of a good future and despite the struggles they face, I need to trust that God will carry out His purpose even among the poor and undereducated.

This leads me to the core of what has been changing me while I’m here in Uganda. Yes, 100% the activities are teaching me new things, but I have also been doing a lot of soul searching, mainly dealing with the life I live and how that matches up with the way I view the world around me. We call that Telos and Praxis around here. Some things I am dwelling on I have never thought of before and others times I will be presented with an entirely different outlook on issues. The most recent issue I have been battling internally is poverty. It seems that the more I realize I have been objectifying poverty my whole life, the more I begin turning the finger around to point at myself. I am realizing that I have a hand in creating poverty or at the very least I am neglecting to do anything about it. Below is an excerpt from some of the material I have been studying…

“Everyone knows what poverty is. When we see its images on television or hear its stories, we recognize poverty with ease. We need to begin by reminding ourselves that poverty is the condition of people whom we describe abstractly as “the poor.” Referring to people by a label is always dangerous. We may forget that the poor are not an abstraction but rather a group of human beings who have names, who are made in the image of God, whose hairs are numbered, and for whom Jesus died. The people who live in poverty are as valued, as important, as loved as those who do not.

Why is this reminder important? The world tends to view the poor as a group that is helpless; thus we give ourselves permission to play god in the lives of the poor. The poor become nameless, and this invites us to treat them as objects of our compassion, as a thing to which we can do what we believe is best. We, the non-poor, take it upon ourselves to name them- homeless, destitute, indigenous, working poor, and so on. Talking about the poor as an abstract noun invites well-intentioned people of compassion to speak for the poor and to practice the latest fads in social engineering. The poor become the custodians of the state, objects of professional study, or a social group to be organized. Whenever we reduce poor people from names to abstractions we add to their poverty and impoverish ourselves.”

This speaks straight to the core of me and it brings great conviction. My whole life I objectified poverty. I always looked at people on the side of the street and said “awww poor them.” The very second I felt guilt for them I made that person an object. That person who has a story to tell and a name worth knowing, I added him or her to my book of stereotypes of poor people. I think many of us purposely distance ourselves from that world so we don’t have to know their life story. I think either consciously or subconsciously we do this because we don’t want to become associated with “them.” Maybe because then we would learn what real conviction is and actually be compelled to do something about it. Helping the poor has nothing to do with putting your spare change in the offertory and it has nothing to do with paying thirty dollars a month to a child you have never met and never plan to so you can feel better about fulfilling your Christian duty. Helping the poor has to do with sacrifice not money management.

I’m sorry if this is offending any one. I hope you know that I point the finger at myself first. Everything I feel about poverty is because I have been convicted and I am seeing the log in my own eye. I would urge you to search for the bias’ that you hold towards the poor and when I get back we should share with each other.

I will stop there now that I have created a novel. Some of you have asked how you can pray for me. Well first off, please pray that the Lord will show how to deal with all these internal struggles and how to find truth amidst confusion. Also I am still praying through what I should do this summer.

I hope you know that I pray for you daily and I think of you all the time. Please don’t forget me! I love all of you sooooo much and I would love for you to write me emails or send me letters so I can hear what is going on in your life!

I LOVE YOU ALL!

Narkwago (my African name)

What is it like to experience culture shock?...

What is it like to experience culture shock?…

First off, I would like to apologize for the long delays between my blogs. These past two weeks have been much more difficult to get things done, there has been a lack of free time.

Like always there is so much to say. I will share the most prominent things…home stays.

So since the 20^th of January I have been living with a local Ugandan family in Mukono. My parents are James and Deborah Nyonitono. I have six brothers and sisters and a niece named Deborah, or Tendo (that’s one of her African names). The oldest is Flavia (18), then Winnie(16), Isaac (15), Sarah(13), Milly(12), Grace (10), and little Deborah (5). These are all their Christian names that one receives when they are baptized as a baby. Most Africans have five or six names. It’s difficult understanding the process for naming a child. So this family has been one of the most challenging and educational journey’s thus far. Every morning I get up early and walk 45 minutes to the campus for lectures and then before sunset I walk back home. These walks through Mukono are an experience in and of themselves. I constantly hear men yelling mzungu and asking if I want a ride on the boda bodas. I have so many new names…sister, madam, mzungu, and baby. Even though I don’t like all the stares and unwanted attention, I wouldn’t trade it because my favorite part of the day is when the little children start yelling mzungu as the wave and smile from ear to ear. I love those special moments. The next best part of my day is when I get home all the children run out to give me huge hugs to welcome me home! Once I get home I get my fourth meal of the day, accompanied with a cup of warm tea. Then I just spend time with my family, learning new things every day. These are the moments that bless me and encourage me to keep coming home. However, there are many uncomfortable cultural moments that become annoying like not knowing where to put the dirty dishes, or how I can help cook even when I have no idea how to cook over a hand-built fire. Those small things really make a huge difference. Then there are those really big uncomfortable positions:

*uncomfortable situation- My host dad is a professional photographer, so last week my “dad” invited me to go to an Introduction that he was hired for, which is a huge traditional ceremony where a man and his family presents a dowry to a woman and her family. The entire clan gets together, supposedly it’s like an engagement party. However on Friday night my dad told me that the Introduction was postponed until Sunday and I should just go to a birthday party with “mom” on Sunday. So Saturday dad took me and some of the other kids to Kampala, that was another incredibly interesting experience as well. Anyways, on Saturday night I asked my dad what I should wear to the birthday party, he told me it was casual, so I dressed casual. Well once we got there every one was dressed extremely nice- prom dress African style. That was the first uncomfortable moment of this party, but it gets way worse. My dad told me the night before to take a few pictures of the birthday party with my digital camera. This entire time I figured that I was going as a guest to the party and that he wanted me to take a few “snaps” since he couldn’t join us. It wasn’t until after the mother of the party started yelling at me when my batteries on my camera died before the cutting of the cake, that I realized I was set up. Not only was I out of place because I was the only white person there, but without my knowledge I found out that since my dad had to film for the Introduction, he volunteered me- without me knowing- to take pictures at this birthday party he was hired to work at. Basically he used me to cover for him since he couldn’t go. I had no idea and I felt so dumb because I thought I was a guest at this party. It was horrible. I learned that day the indirect communication is a large part of African culture.

 Living with this family has made me want to be Ugandan, but also makes me want to catch the quickest plane home. This may not be what people want or expected to hear from me, but I’m all about being honest...living in another country is freaking HARD. It is completely different from short term mission trips in a million ways. People saw the pure joy that I brought back with me this past summer after Swaziland. My first taste of Africa was the best time of my life. I remember having random spurts of crying because I wanted to go back and now I have random spurts of crying because I want to go home.

So I should probably explain myself a little more…

There are days when I walk around, look up, observe the Ugandans and think to myself “I’m a white American, what am I doing here?” I look around and I see how people simply live their lives. One thing I respect from the Ugandans is that with a good heart they work hard to provide themselves with a good life.

*side note- if some of this is random and rhetorical, forgive me because that is my mindset these days.

One thing that I think about a lot is my view of wealth, of having nice things. In America I despise money, I hate materialism. I look around and see the corruption that love of money has brought to our country and worse to the Church. Here in Uganda, it’s different. I don’t exactly know how, but seeing wealthy Africans doesn’t bother me as much as seeing wealthy Americans. I think my view is changing, but I haven’t figured out in what way yet.

Another thing I have been dealing with is culture. I can’t figure out my place in it. The more I live in another culture, the more I see my own culture has a stronger tie than I realized. I have spent the last few years trying to remove myself from the strongholds of American culture on my life. I wanted to be different, yet I didn’t see that I was just placing myself in another group of people called revolutionaries. Yet, even as “revolutionaries”, we can never escape our roots. Now I’m beginning to ask myself, why would I want to?

One of the questions I wanted to seek out during my time in Uganda was to see how much of my faith is affected by my culture. I wanted to find the answer and rid myself of that element. I thought that my culture was blinding me from seeing a reality of God that was essential to finding a new revelation of Christ. I still don’t have the answers, but I’m starting to realize that I will never rid myself of my culture, and that’s okay. I’m learning that the truth of Christ is universal and can puncture a heart WITHIN any culture. He touches us from the life we are living. It brings a whole new meaning to the truth that Christ loves you and changes you from where you are at…literally WHERE you are at! Maybe that is why I have been so confused lately because I am trying to see how the Africans see God, but through American lenses. I hope that makes sense. Revelation.

Now this brings up a whole new question to address, how do missions play a role in that. Not in a rude or judgmental way, but I am realizing that for decades we have been doing missions all wrong. I know that we had to do it wrong to see the problem and hopefully we can learn how to do it the right way. Now I’m starting to sound confusing. I just think if I can never rid myself of my own culture, how can I put myself in an African culture and expect to understand their worldview. Basically, as much as I want to be I can never be African. SAD revelation I know.

So my next thought is…because of culture do Africans worship the same God I worship in America? Simply because of our different world views we see God in different ways. Is it okay that certain attributes of God are modified based on culture? To make Christ fit the African or Americans world view. Will we ever have a pure understanding of the Bible and of who God is?

Once again, I have a million questions and very little answers. I’m learning that is all part of the process. I’m changing and all I see it as is frustration with different cultures. Nothing is what I expected it to be.

Please pray, pray hard. Not just for me, but that you may also search these questions yourself.

I love you guys, probably more than usual because I’m homesick! If any one wants to

Write me a letter or send me chocolate or any candy actually, my address is:

Tara Ryan

Uganda Studies Program

Uganda Christian University

PO Box 4

Mukono, Uganda

Love you lots and know that I am praying for you back home!!

Searching soul,

Tara Michelle