Why I do.

I am finding it incredibly hard to articulate why it is I do what I do.  Why do I feel compelled to pursue a career working towards social change where the money sucks and the challenges sometimes seem insurmountable? Why do I feel pulled to live and work in Africa where it takes twice as long to get everywhere and challenges seem to appear out of nowhere? And why is it so hard for me to put any solid answers into words? To put it simply, I strongly believe in the incredible power of humanity—in the power of humans to destroy and then the power to rebuild.  I am moved by the resilience of the human race and the ability for people to thrive in the most intolerable conditions.  I believe to my core that all humans are innately good and that therefore every person deserves to thrive.  And I believe that as part of a greater collective, I could not pass through this world as a bystander. 

Why do I do what I do? Because who am I not to? When Sister Barbara comes to work every day, to a clinic the size of a trailer that doesn't have ibuprofen simply because she knows that the people of Linda are entitled to health care, I can spend the rest of my life trying to drive change.  I am a realist and do not for a second believe that in my lifetime all of the world problems will be solved, but I also acknowledge all of the amazing people who have stepped into my life at one point or another and I have witnessed the incredible potential we all possess.  Everyone's potential manifests differently, but for me my life has taken me down a path where working to contribute towards a positive shared wellbeing is my passion and growing other potentials rather than stunting them is my mission.  To sum it all up, I do what I do because I really don’t know what else I would do.

Collaboration with University of Zambia

Neri Clinics-where I spend my mornings

Tuesday Nutrition Clinic

Sunset at Kafue 

Two Lines. (Arrived safely in Zambia)

Two little lines appear and within seconds the world is turned upside down.  In an instant a seemingly healthy person begins the fight of their life, forever coping with a life sentence.  Two little lines appear and the reactive result means you are now HIV positive.

Fingers crossed and under breath prayers have accompanied me to work at the Neri Clinic for the past few days.  Hoping that as a person sits down on the green stool beside me I will soon be writing NR in the ledger instead of grappling to control my emotions as the following conversation must break devastating news.  At the Neri Clinic, HIV screenings are done the way taking blood pressures in the US would be done.  Routine checks for people seeking attention for a headache can yield an unexpected, unwanted result.

Nothing can prepare you for the blow as the first line appears.  A thin strip of paper that is read like a pregnancy test-two lines positive, one line negative-sits on the table as I anxiously await the results.  A man of 23, a mother of a young baby, and a women who has just found out she is pregnant, have all become victims to the lines. 

HIV rates in Zambia are said to be around 15%.  HIV is a constant topic and woven into the work of most organizations here.  Numbers are daunting and huge.  Numbers paint a picture, but a face leaves a portrait—one I will never forget.  I looked into their eyes and spoke of shared connections, and sat helplessly as two lines appeared; a sickening feeling that nothing could be done.  I cannot walk the rest of the journey with them that I feel like I was a catalyst for and today that does not sit well. 

Rwanda, you are too good to me.

Zambia bound in the am. Filled with a mix of sadness, anxiety, and well mostly sadness.  Since I have done a pretty bad job blogging in recent weeks I am just going to share some final thoughts and refections.

Sharing Rwanda with the people I love is quite possibly my favorite thing to do.  Spending time here with my mom and Alex was really a blessing.  And I am quite pleased to report I think Alex is smitten with Rwanda.  I mean, I didn't really expect anything less seeing as Rwanda is so amazing.  Every day I spend here I see something more spectacular than the last.  Today Alex played mancala (for those of you who remember the game from childhood) with the gift wrapper, Fidel, at the market.  Something so simple yet so meaningful--- two people who do not speak the same language, could enjoy a little friendly competition and find commonality over a variation of a game both had grown up with.

The center really seems to be blossoming.  I am amazed by the growth and the dedication of the current staff.  Yesterday I sat in on a training by the counselor (all in Kinyarwanda so much of it was lost on me) about shame and self-blame.  She gives weekly trainings to the entire staff-cook, social workers, guard, driver--about how to address the needs of the boys and best practice for vulnerable children.  The future social worker in me is beyond thrilled.  I think the center is on a path to being truly rehabilitative and going beyond the surface to core issues.  Wow, I am such a child welfare nerd!

I discovered this other wonderful street child center during my time here, if you have a chance check it out!
The executive director, Sean, from New Mexico, is really living the dream if you ask me!
Check it out here! 

This country never ceases to amaze me.  And this trip, more than ever before, has solidified that Rwanda is home.  I had the joy of seeing old friends and building even stronger relationships, and the pleasure of meeting new ones.  I spent far too much time in Kimironko Market, to the point where I could recognize any new fabric that came into my dear friend Josephine's shop.  But the hours I spent waiting for a dress to be finished or simply sitting and watching the world go by, were invaluable.  Thank you so much to Josephine for incredible hospitality and including me in the family.  You truly have become a sister.  Thank you to my superstar Willy, who is growing up into an incredible young man.  The world better prepare themselves for all he has to offer.  Thank you to all of my friends at the market for the Kinyarwanda lessons and for sharing Fantas, for the dance parties and the laughter.  And thank you to my wonderful Les Enfant de Dieu, to the place who has made me who I am today, the people who have brought so much love into my life, and the memories that will carry me through until next time...

Adaptation.

The hill out of town leads to the bustling Nyabugogo bus station.  The sidewalk is narrow and if you do not walk deliberately there is a good chance you will find yourself in the gutter or dodging cars on the road.  The road never seems to have a break from traffic especially  as the work day is ending.  But that did not seem to phase the young boy whizzing down the side of the road in his wheelchair.  The sun was starting to go down and I could not stop worrying about his mode of transport, racing next to cars and passing motobikes.  He however seemed more concerned with my progress.  Every so often he would pull off the road, look up the hill and wait for us to catch up.  When we did, he would flash an ear-to-ear sparkling smile and then we would continue together.  There are side walks in Kigali, but for anyone trying to pass then on anything other than two legs they are not very friendly.  Driveways are covered in metal grates and every 100 yards there is a curb. So this sweet boy in the wheel chair really has no other options than to act as a normal vehicle and travel by road.  And judging by his beautiful smile and tender nature I am sure he has never complained about it.  As I walked down the sidewalk worrying about him getting home before dark, he simply cruised down the hill, blending in with the normal flow of life, taking what life handed him-- paving his own road.

Some random pictures from the last few weeks:

My Mom and I at Lake Bunyonyi, Uganda

Sunset over the lake, Uganda

My friend Claire's beautiful baby girl

The fabulous Josephine helping me purchase a mattress

 

.

I have been asked many times, "How do you see Rwanda?" The only way I can respond is, "I love it."  I have a hard time explaining it.  There are no words to explain the calmness I feel as I rock side to side in the bus as it climbs the hills out of town.  There is little to be said for the grace and poise with which people transport hundreds of pounds of goods.  I cannot explain why driving past tea fields dotted with brightly colored laundry makes me feel at peace.  Maybe it is the air or the simplicity of life.  It could be the smiling children chasing after deflated footballs or the joyous laughter after I try out a new word in Kinyarwanda.  Frankly, I don't think I will ever be able to pinpoint it.  But in many ways I have grown up here.  I arrived a bright-eyed and eager 18 year old--- now, at 22 I could not imagine my life without this land and these people.  The red dust has infiltrated my lungs and no matter how hard I scrub, it has stained my feet forever.

Love.

My Spiderman has grown into quite the little man.  I no longer feel like an overprotective mother hen who worries about him getting through the day or being successful.  He is no longer the baby of EDD and I am thrilled to report, can now wash his clothes by himself and get along just fine on his own!  He is off and running.  It is a joy to watch how confident he has become, he is self-assured and now helps the littler boys navigate the center and their daily routines.  I no longer see him off in the field sitting alone reliving his horrific memories. I know this early experiences will never leave him but it seems he has found ways of coping and no longer let them dictate his life.  His English has improved so much and he is eager to soak up information.  He happily informed me that his mother told him he will be an English teacher.  Today, I sat on the football pitch and watched in awe at how far he has come.  He wasn't afraid to jump right in, it is obvious the other boys respect him.  He is the "keeper" of the little boys football team, something that obviously brings him great pride.  And he has become a keeper of the center.  Today he stayed to help me clean up the library and he looks after the little boys with kindness and care.  His little light is now shinning so bright.

E, is a newer boy at the center.  He arrived, not long after I left, from another street child center in Kigali that was closed by the government for mistreating the children.  He is around eight, though just a guess since age is not well recorded here.  His day to day existence is a struggle.  He truly is just bursting with love.  I watched as he tenderly moved hair out of someone's face and saw his face light up as he waved at a butterfly that flew by.  But some of my most frustrating moments have come as I watch him intentionally hurt himself.  He will stare directly into the sun or hit himself with a rock, as if he isn't worthy of not feeling pain.  I try to explain to him that it hurts me when he hurts himself, but it seems to be lost in translation. But then he will come grab my hand and hold it so gently. And moments later he will bite me.  He yearns for attention and any attention is good attention.  He will stare at nothing and I wish I could jump inside his little head and remove all of the toxic memories it stores.  He is just a little boy who wants what every human being wants, to love and to be loved.

Dreams Realized.

 I first came to Rwanda four years ago, a wide-eyed, naive 18 year-old who felt a strong desire to return to Africa.  On that first trip, with an international volunteer service I was placed at Les Enfant de Dieu and so my long-term, long-distance relationship with the center began.  During my time there, another volunteer and myself discovered a stockpile of books, markers and other supplies that had been donated to the center; most of these good were inaccessible to the boys and kept behind lock and key--they were being hoarded more or less.  This hoarding is a phenomenon I have seen time and time again, the boys will collect what seem to be the most arbitrary objects (bottle caps, pieces of plastic, broken pens) and they guard them with their lives.  I think this stems from coming from so little that anything and everything is valuable and they do not want to let it go or lose it.

Anyway, the other volunteer and myself wanted the boys to be able to access the books and other supplies and so we developed a sort of cataloging and check-out process that we hoped to be a library.  We spent hours color-coding flash cards and making sets of markers and colored pencils.  We were able to get the boys more access to things and hopefully more than anything we got the ball rolling for a future library. 

After I returned to the states I would sit in class and dream of ways I could find money to build a library complete with shelves and couches, a fun place the boys could spend time.  When I returned in 2011, the boys were able to check-out books from the teachers room and volunteers would get out markers and games from the social workers office.

As my time was ending, there were plans to wall-in and turn the old dinning hall into a library.  Well, I am thrilled to report that today, EDD has a fully-functioning library.  The boys have access to hundreds of books, games, and art supplies.  It is currently run by the volunteers, but I am hoping to talk to the staff about turning over the keys to the boys and empowering them to run it themselves.  A small seed was planted four years ago and today it has become fully realized. 

Coming Home

There are few things in life that bring me as much joy as stepping off a plane after 20 hours onto Rwandan soil. That aside, there is NOTHING that brings me joy like walking through the gate at Les Enfants de Dieu. 

Friday afternoon after far too many days in between, I finally saw my beautiful boys.  The center has grown and changed since my last visit.  The dormitory is finished and most of the buildings that stood on my first visit nearly 4 years ago  no longer exist.  There are many new faces and many new little boys-a lot of the older ones are either back home, away at secondary school or in vocational training.  But I was still greeted by so many bright faces and wonderful beings. 

I saw my Spiderman (for those of you who followed last time you will remember my stories) and I had to choke back my tears.  He came running from across the center- full speed into my arms, I don't think life gets much better than that.  The magic of my neverland is still very much there and my lost boys all seem to be doing quite well.  I always say it is a place, that may have flaws, but allows so many who have had it so hard to be children again.  I asked many of them how old they now were, most of them seemed to have grown younger or had miraculously not aged at all.  It is a place where at least for the little ones, for now, growing up is optional. 

I feel exhausted, but a great exhausted.  It feels like I have come home.

1 WEEKS TILL GO-TIME

It has been 520 days since I stood on African ground and about that long since I last used this blog, but I figured I better revive it so I can share my stories with the few who actually look.  This exact time next week, I will walk out the doors of my cozy little apartment to begin my journey 6,859.1 miles back to my beloved Kigali.  Over the last year and a half not a day has past where my mind hasn't wandered to those hills and my smiling boys.

Everything is pretty much in order by now, expect for a few things like my housing in Kigali, and the fact that I haven't yet received my passport back from the Zambian Embassy, but those are just minor details.  What matter is that I have a plane ticket with my name on it and the final destination is KGL--Kigali, Rwanda! My plan is to enjoy the company of the sweet boys of Les Enfants de Dieu, catch up with old friends, pay a few visits to the mystical Lake Kivu, travel to Uganda for a few days, and soak up enough of Rwanda's wonderfulness to tide me over for the next few months.  Then mid-July, I continue on to Zambia, with my university to study.  It'll be a new stamp in the passport and I am anxious to see if it captures me the way Rwanda does, though it will take some getting used to traveling with 19 other students.

Please join me in my journey back to my second home!

Missing Rwanda

I cannot believe almost a whole week has gone by since I was with my boys in Rwanda.  It really is crazy how time flies.  I miss Rwanda more than I thought I would. I really did find a home there.  Morocco is more like Europe than anything, but I still find the pieces of the Africa I love here, I cling to them---the moms with babies on their backs and the piles of clothes in the market with dozens of women shuffling through them.

I wanted to share my co-worker, Elena's blog so that you can still follow life in Rwanda if you so choose, she will be there until April. I am SO jealous!
http://elenainrwanda.blogspot.com/ 

Made it to Morocco

After 23 hours of traveling, I arrived in Morocco on Monday.  Pretty ridiculous, it takes just as long to get across Africa as it does to get to Colorado.  Morocco is so different than Rwanda!! I've had anxiety pretty much since I stepped off the plane and was hit by a wall of cold.  With two pairs of pants and flip-flops I am definitely not prepared for the climate and with trains and trams I am totally out of my element.  I am slowly adjusting, until I come across the Rolex stores and McDonalds, which cause a moment of sheer panic.  I miss Rwanda and my boys more than I could have imagined and I'm busy dreaming of ways to get back quickly!  But with Rwanda and my boys in my heart I am happy to be with Alex again and the French pastries are a nice perk!

 

We All Scream for Ice Cream

A wise person once said, "You can't buy happiness but you can buy ice cream and that's pretty much the same thing."  Ice cream is one thing that I can count on to always make me happy. 

When I was little ice cream was the reason I would eat dinner.  In Gambia, I would splurge on ice cream, it helped me get through the stress of having all my plans fall through and was a good way to bribe my host
brother. 

When we were traveling through Butare a month back we came across Inzozi Nziza, the first ice cream parlor in Rwanda.  A women's cooperative that has brought jobs, ice cream and most importantly happiness to the community.  With free ice cream once a month for the children of Butare, Inzozi Nziza is spreading joy.  They advertise as coffee, ice cream and dreams.  Simple and perfect! And so began my obsession of giving my boys the ice cream experience.

With today being my last official day at the center (I will go tomorrow for final goodbyes) I thought that instead of being sad about my departure why not spread some joy with a sweet treat.  Elena and I packed in the truck, headed to town and spent $97!  The best money I have ever spent.  4.5 gallons of ice cream, 150 plastic spoons, a mash of tin plates and plastic cups, and 130 boys- it was wonderful!!!!  Smiles, licking plates, ice cream on faces--it was sheer perfection.  Today I fulfilled a dream and got my boys ice cream, it doesn't get much better than that! 

YUM!

woah ice cream!

My boys! Forever in my heart.

I leave Rwanda on Sunday (with a very heavy heart) to join Alex in Morocco.  I do not know if I will really have an opportunity to blog.  Thank you so much for joining me on this journey, I cannot believe it is coming to an end...

One Week

Today marks one week until I leave Rwanda.  Saying goodbye to this amazing country and to my wonderful boys is going to be one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.  Knowing that I will never see some of the faces that have become a part of my life, ever again is really unfathomable.  I want to share the story of one little boy who has changed my life.  He has taught me what it really means to love unconditionally.  I have changed his name to Spiderman (not to be confused with the comic book character, though both are super heroes) to protect his identity. 

There are people in this world who shine so bright that their presence can be blinding and impossible to ignore.  Spiderman is one of those light. He is changed me in ways I cannot explain and forever left his footprint on my heart.  
He caught my eye the first time I saw him.  A huge toothy grin, and scars on his face, a wisdom in his eyes.  There was just something about him.  The first thing I learned about his case was that everyone was on his case, the toughest in the center.  In his first few days he ran away several times and his little body has a hard time dealing with withdrawals.  He told Rafiki his father's occupation was to beat him and many days he sat alone, away from the other boys.  He struggles in school and cannot retain information very well, a possible side effect of his early drug use.  Some days are quite hard on Spiderman.  I am no doctor but I believe he suffers from PTSD.  Joseanne told us his whole story one day after she spent hours comforting him.  It goes like this:
One day Spiderman returned home to find his father's dead body.  He had been murdered.  He sat and cried and cried for help but no one came.  He worries the same people will come back for his mother.  He told Joseanne that he would rather they take him instead- he loves his mother so much.  He loves his mother so much because she loves him so much.  She would tell Spiderman to behave so that his father would not beat him.  Spiderman remembers his mother telling him that when his father beat him it was like she was taking the blows because he is her heart.
Spiderman has suffered so much in his short life.  He has seen things his young eyes never should have seen and he bares the scar.  He has days where he can clearly not handle it all.  Tears well in his eyes and he cannot form a smile.  These days kill me because his light should never be dimmed.  But then there are the days when he takes me by the hands, his big eyes gleaming, and says, "I love you."
A lover and a fighter my Spiderman is.  I wish for him to know his greatness everyday of his life.  His face is imprinted forever in my mind, his hand will never leave mine, and his heart is now part of my soul.  He is a being unlike any other and a little boy who makes living in this crazy world bearable.   

Live 2 Break

Happiness. Joy. Hope.  Those are the words I would use to sum up the last 10 days at Les Enfants de Dieu. 

If there is one thing my boys love more than anything else in the world it is to dance.  Sun up to sun down they will dance.  As soon as they get the chance the boom box is rocking and they are grouped together in synchronized routines.  Many an afternoon, I have spent twirling in circles, shuffling from side to side, and getting down with the boys in our dining room as the music cracked in and out on the sketchy stereo.  So much joy has come to the center through dance, a language and an understanding that needs no words.

So of course if they had one wish it would be to have real dance teachers, not just the pirated music videos they watch to perfect their skills.  Thank god for Catalyst Rwanda and the Live 2 Break Crew who came and spent the last ten days teaching the boys to pop, lock and drop it.

As I watched the boys transform into break dancers this last week I felt so happy.   Their smiles never faded and their eyes lit up every time Pervez (the break master) tied his bandanna on and showed them a new move.  Each time Kate or Bret (the rest of the crew) slowed down to help a boy until he got it, I saw that glint of pride radiate from his soul.  This week the boys saw that they mattered.  The Live 2 Break crew had come all the way from London just for them because they are just as important as any other child.  They will never forget those ten days, they will treasure them forever-- just as I will cherish the moments I got to sit and watch them smile as they spun in circles and hopped back in forth.

There are not enough thank yous in the world but it's all I have; so thank you Pervez, Kate, Bret and Nicola for making my boys know how special they really are!

The Live 2 Break Crew

Elena and I "breaking it"

Heads or Tails.

Driving through the hills this weekend in our rented Rav4 on the way to Nyungwe National Park (one of the only rain forests to survive the last ice age) I couldn't stop thinking about how I was sitting in the front of a car while all around me hundreds of people were climbing up hills in bare feet on their way to market or their terraced tea plantains. What made it so that I was the one sitting in the car not the one out in the elements?  And I realized so clearly, maybe really for the first time, that life is determined by one thing, that one thing is chance.  It really is left to a coin toss it seems.  Because I was born in America, in a hospital to a white middle class family, I am able to drive my Rav4 through the hills of Rwanda but the people we passed on the road were born in homes in southern Rwanda and so they spend much of their lives living and working  and walking the land of their birthplace. It is all rather funny to me that the conditions in which we enter this world can be so different and based on nothing at all.  I am feeling quite conflicted about it, what right do I have to receive a university education and live a privileged life--while my brothers and sisters here spend their days in the fields and fighting to afford an education? What makes me different? I am no different than my Rwandan countrymen but I have been born into a life where I have more opportunity and choice and complain when I do not get what I want, but why???

It was hammered home ever more today at work when I sat with one of my boys and listened to his concerns and hopes and fears.  He is in secondary school and time is coming for him to return home but he is worried because there are problems at home. His father is very poor and unable to work and all this boy wants to do is to help (because family is everything here) while continuing his education.  He is brilliant and he must continue to study (which the center will pay for) but there may not be food at home and his father has no means to support him.  This boy could very well be in the United States or the upper-class of Rwanda where these problems do not exist but chance has landed him here; with hopes and dreams but a seemingly impossible road to reach them.  He told me he wants to be a doctor.  He is smart and hardworking, more than students I've encounter in the states.  He is determined and strong-willed, more than anyone I know.  But I couldn't help but think that this dream could very well not be possible, with the demands of his home and with very little to make this a reality.  It broke me.  In the US a child wants to be a doctor and so he becomes a doctor, but because the randomness of human existence put my boy here, where life is layers of complexities and circumstances, he may not become a doctor.  Even with my tinge of doubts, I turned to him and told him he would become a doctor.  He will be a doctor.  I have to believe this because if I don't have hope how can I except anyone else to and hope is what keeps us alive. 

Our world is complex and diverse and random and I'm just trying to make sense of it all.  Ha! Who am I kidding, I suppose man has been trying to do that since the beginning.

Happy Anecdotes

Anecdote #1:

My wonderful co-worker Josieanne shared a beautiful story with me today at lunch that I wanted to pass along.

Josieanne, like so many, was orphaned by the genocide here in Rwanda.  Shortly after it ended she met an old man who was able to keep her parents legacy alive but sharing this story with her...
He asked her name.  She told him her given name, the name her father bestowed upon her at birth as is customary for the father to name the child.  The old man told her her name meant "best wife, good mother."  He asked her siblings names.  The eldest's name "to be beautiful" and the middle "to always be clear."  He explained that a father names his children to honor the mother, to express to his wife how he feels. The old man told Josieanne that her father wanted her mother to know how much he cared for her.  He saw her as a beautiful and clear woman who made the best wife. Seventeen years later, Josieanne carries the legacy of her mother and the love of her father.

Anecdote #2: 

Sharing is caring....Today I gave the boys lollipops (courtesy of my mom).  Eric was going on a home visit in the afternoon so he saved his lollipop and gave it to his baby sister, who then shared it with her friend :)

 

Give a man a fish...

About a month ago a young mother walked through the gate at work with her five day old baby girl.  My co-workers knew her well, months before she had stood at our gate in tears.  Her husband left her when she was 7 months pregnant, without resources and with their two other children.  Josieanne and Charles consoled her and did what they could to help her; paying her rent and health insurance to make sure that her baby would be healthy. 

On this day she was returning to show us her new girl and was looking for more support.  Her rent was due and with a new baby, working was not an options.  I offered to take care of her $2 rent for the month because a mother of three needs to have a roof over her head.  Over the last few weeks I have returned to visit her and her children, bringing clothes and offering my hand as a friend.  But this has presented an all too familiar dilemma, how do you give a hand up without giving a hand out? I am troubled by this as I face poverty daily in Rwanda. 

The proverb, "Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, he eats for a lifetime," rings in my head quite regularly.  I have a strict personal policy of not giving beggars money or handing over cash to individuals because I see this as merely temporary bandaid, tomorrow they will need more.  I believe this perpetuates poverty and creates great dependency.  But I am afraid I have created this dependency with the woman I was only trying to befriend and support.  She now expects things and after my most recent visit is  even willing to ask.  I want to pay for her eldest child to begin school because I see this as a solution to poverty but how do I pay for school fees with the understanding that she needs to work to afford them on her own? 

I am struggling with this conundrum.  The one thing I do know is that collectively we need to work on solutions not temporary quick fixes. But how exactly do we do this when there is so much need?

8 people, a baby and a compact car...Uganda

I have just returned home from a wonderful trip to Uganda.  I originally planned this trip in order to extend my 90 day Rwandan visa.  We traveled from Kigali to Lake Bunyonyi in the south of the country where we stayed on an island for the weekend.  

Although the border in theory is only about an hour and a half outside of Kigali, our journey ended up taking about 8 hours, 5 different vehicles and 4 modes of transportation.  We began in mini-bus that took around 2 hours to fill and leave.  We then walked across the border, picked up a small shared taxi in which we jammed 8 adults and a baby.  After arriving in the town of Kabale, we transferred to motorbike which took us up a long bumpy road though stone quarries and hills.  And finally we paddled in dug-out canoe to our island.  It was well worth the trek and hey, TIA [this is Africa]!

Cow by the lake

lake shore market

Catching crayfish, I later ate them and they were delicious!

the market, everyone arrives by boat

the dug-out canoe to the island

canoe school bus

our geodome where we stayed

national bird of Uganda, the grey crowned crane

dug-out canoes

The town of Kabale

 
Uganda is a lovely country with beautiful and kind people! I would love to return one day to spend more time.

Day 2 in the field

Danelle is an orphan.  His grandmother raised him.  He has been at the center since March and after visiting his home I cannot really understand why he left; maybe a curious young boy in search of adventure in the big city.

We waited outside Danelle's home surrounded by goats and banana trees and curious neighbors while someone from the village went to fetch his grandmother from a neighbor's home.  A little old lady hunched from years of working the land hurried up the road towards us.  She took one look at Danelle and tears welled in her eyes. 

She told us she had worried about him every second of the last months.  She had sent people to look for him and went to his school to try to find him.  She even called prisons to see if they had picked him up.  Finally she assumed he was gone forever, maybe even dead.  But now, she was just so happy to see her grandson!

She took us inside her little mud house and told Danelle to gather his things.  She had saved it all for him hoping one day he might return.  She told us she dreamed of him most nights.  At this point leaning against the door frame, tears began to roll down her weathered cheeks.  She had her grandson back, she knew he was ok, and for that moment all was good in the world.

As we prepared to leave, after promises were made for more visits, she scrambled through her purse looking for a pen she could give him for his studies.  I am pretty sure she would have given him the world if she could of.  It's an amazing thing to see- the power of love. 

Gorilla Trekking

Trekking the famous mountain gorillas in Rwanda's Volcanoes National Park.  Thanks mom for footing the bill!!