rainy sunday in kampala

Now it’s really storming.

I mean it. It was perfectly sunny this morning and as I sat inside on wireless at Café Pap, the sky darkened, huge claps of thunder shook the building and opaque sheets of rain began to fall. They haven’t stopped. Last night at 2:30 a.m., I stood outside on the back steps of La Fontaine, leaning against the peeling yellow wall in my pajamas, the hills of the city illuminated by the periodic bursts of silent lightning that streaked the western skies. It looked as if the clouds themselves were exploding, expanding quickly in the white-orange-blue light and then shrinking back into darkness.

I fell asleep immediately and woke up early, even though I’d really only slept for four hours. The exploding clouds from last night had rolled back to wherever they came in from, leaving a slightly hazy blue morning. The housemates are headed up north for a few days, leaving me at La Fontaine by myself…flailing about with all the free time, trying to figure out what to do with it. Lots of tea, reading, writing, yoga, constant musical accompaniment. So I came to Café Pap and ordered a huge cappuccino and I’m still here, waiting out the storm and wondering what’s next.

kitgum on my shoe

I significantly extended my "%-of-Uganda-covered" in the past few days. Traveling the 100 km (which took 2.5 hours) to Kitgum put me within 60 km of the Sudanese border - the furthest north that I've traveled in the country. The road was absolutely terrible (hence the long time to travel such a short distance), and our driver had no idea where Kitgum was. He actually had never been to northern Uganda before and I had to tell him how to get everywhere while we were in Gulu. We left for Kitgum yesterday morning and when we got into the car he asked "where?" Just what you want to hear.

We made it to Kitgum unscathed and eventually found our hotel - the Hotel Veron. It's one of two in the town, and it appeared to be right smack in the middle of an IDP camp, complete with a huge wall around the property (topped with coiled, wicked-looking barbed wire). Inside the gates, the walls were painted with murals (quality and style a la El Vaquero in Columbus), one of an African wedding, one of a DJ with a party scene, one of a pool (yes, Hotel Veron has a painted pool), and one of African wildlife (painted either by someone with a horrific sense of scale, or someone with knowledge of a breed of frogs or rats that are larger than elephants). All joking aside, Hotel Veron is located amidst a community settlement in Kitgum (not an IDP camp), where residents are relatively poor and live in the traditional round huts with thatched roofs - but it's certainly not an IDP camp. Hotel Veron is a bit of heaven in extreme northern Uganda. It's only been open five months, but it really is a great place. The owner, Ben, runs a tight ship -the place is spotless and comfortable and even has a water heater.

After settling a bit we headed off to meetings - the first of which was with someone from the Justice and Reconciliation Project at Kitgum's version of Bomah (the only thing worth mentioning is how much better Bomah is in Gulu than it is in Kitgum). The whole day was spent in meetings - several with local government officials and with the Amnesty Commission - meant to gather information about what's going on in terms of peace-building and justice and reconciliation on the ground in Kitgum district - the hardest hit by the war. Lots more talk about the lack of capacity at the local government level (not surprising - we were shocked to find that people were actually working in the post-apocalyptic-looking office block - conditions were deplorable).

At the Amnesty Commission we learned about the realities facing returnees in the area - stigma from the community, lack of resources, post-traumatic stress, etc. The government-run Commission provides returnees with an Amnesty certificate, a blanket, mattress, seeds, hoe and 243,000 shillings (about $130). This is very rarely enough to get a former child soldier back on his/her feet.

Back at Hotel Veron we had drinks with a guy working on an organic cotton project in the region - providing local farmers with training and equipment to grow organic cotton that is shipped and sold in Kampala. I was happy to learn about a seemingly successful project that a) is serving 33,000 farmers, b) seems sustainable (the market is pretty solid and farmers also get land for food crops to feed themselves and their families), and c) doesn't destroy the environment. The area was a big cotton producer before the war, so it's good to see a return to the crop with an environmentally-friendly twist (cotton production can be really rought with pesticides and such). It can be pretty depressing trying to come up with viable economic recovery ideas for a place like Kitgum (and the north in general, where lack of markets and infrastructure is a huge impediment before you even mention that the entire population is living in dire poverty). The cotton project at least seemed to put a positive spin on an otherwise depressing day.

Funny then, how Uganda always seems to redeem itself when you want to lay under the mosquito net and sob. One of Hotel Veron's past residents was an Italian with a flair for cooking. When the all-Ugandan staff brought out a menu in Italian, we were both confused and delighted. The guest had taught the staff to make homemade pasta and sauces. I had lasagna with fresh pasta in Kitgum and a glass of chardonnay. We woke up to the lavender non-sun rise, spanish omelettes, bananas, tang and spiced African tea (to which I added drinking chocolate, which made it DELICIOUS)...and promptly got on the road back to Gulu. Such a short trip, but it was definitely worthwhile.

After a brief stop for meetings in Gulu, we started the long haul back to Kampala. We literally were run off the road by enormous trucks at least five times. If potholes and bad roads are ever a novelty or an adventure, it wears off really quickly. I'm glad to be back in Kampala - even with the fact that La Fontaine has no running water right now, I'm filthy, and Iguana Cafe next door is blasting Snoop Dogg circa 1993.

watching and waiting - ajulu idp camp

domestic bliss at la fontaine

A dispatch from the balcony at La Fontaine:

The housemates have all gone to see Montell Jordan (of early 90s "This is how we do it" fame - yes fans, he is still making music!) and I just tore myself away from the weirdness of Game Control to write on the stolen Linksys that wafts in and out of our balcony. Today was a transition day of sorts as the GYPA Immersion just drew to a close - I planned to spend the afternoon at the pool, getting some sun and reading all day (drilling through the library I brought along), but the East African weather gods had other plans (demonstrated angrily by the thunder claps and persistent gray drizzle). Instead I ended up back at Crocodile Cafe, where I've become a sort of pathetic regular (the whole wait-staff knows me now, enough to be forgiving when I forgot my wallet the other day and had to run home to get enough shillings to pay the bill). I don't know how many more banana splits and avocado salads I can stomach...my tendency to frequent restaurants has clearly translated to Uganda, as staff at Crocodile and Cafe Pap will testify.

I had a fast enough internet connection last night to download two new albums - Stars and Andrew Bird. It's essential to have music for the iPod, as the apartment is right next door to Iguana Cafe, which spouts R&B and mid-90s hip hop until at least 2 a.m. My bedroom window backs up right to the bar. Even so, I really cherish La Fontaine. Richard and Jacob, who work in the restaurant downstairs, are wonderful and seemingly ecstatic whenever we come home. The cleaning staff loves having us here - they baked us a fresh loaf of bread yesterday (heaven) and tonight brought us a TV (complete with rabbit ear antennae) and a chocolate cake with whipped cream - fresh out of the oven. I also learned the skill of cooking on a campstove, which is basically what we have in the kitchen - just two simple burners (our oven is broken and used as a storage cabinet) - the fridge, though new, has door issues (aka it's held on with duct tape and often falls off - much to the annoyance and pain of the person opening the door). Tonight for dinner I made a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese (yes, I was nostalgic) and I couldn't eat it without applesauce. With little else to occupy my afternoon, I stopped by the nearest fruit stand, bought some apples, and came back and made applesauce myself. Apples, cinnamon and some water in a pan on the stove. Domestic bliss.

taking stock

The skin of my stomach feels stretched, expanded, constrained within the waistline of my jeans. Filled with meat samosas. Six of them washed down with red wine and Krest. I’m sitting on my taco bed at MUBS, and I pulled back the blue, chemical-doused mosquito net (my saviour) so I could sit on the edge instead of inside the misty blue room. The dormitory is generally filled with evidence of weariness. Mold blossoms fill the corner of the wall and ceiling on one side, their gray-white-green edges peeling back the paint above the water-stain-darkened tackboard. Remnants of last term are on the walls – Akena for MUBS guild, with a corner ripped off. Smells Fresh. Go Getters. Malaria consortium. A lone, misshapen wire hanger with blue plastic coating hangs from a nail in the wood trim above the tackboard. Holes in the screen over the window. Mosquitoes seem to pour forth from that opening, they buzzed in my ears all night before the blue net. The pack that weighed the same as a very fat 8-year-old on the way here now hangs slack and awkward from a nail on the closet door. The old wooden table against the wall in our room is overflowing with random pieces of travel flair – Cutter mosquito repellent – orange lid. Green candle from Chico’s meant to make the room smell like home. Rite Aid tissue pack, used tissues crumpled up and strewn about. An open back of makeup, mascara protruding. My barely used green leather travel journal – have I really started traveling yet? Toothpaste – green and sparkled herbal mint. Makeshift stack of GYPA business cards rubber-banded together. White three-ring binder filled with student passport and personal information. An old copy of the Daily Monitor. Q-tips in a blue plastic case. A hair brush. Pieces of leftover African fabric – fish, abstract palms in red and black. The Trouble with Africa open to page 137 on my bed – about Discord in Central Africa. Never to be read again. Gatorade powder. A mini-brochure about gorilla-tracking. Remnants. I’ll pack tomorrow morning and then on to the next stage. There’s one bare tube fluorescent light on the ceiling, and pretty much every night at varying times the power goes out, sometimes for five minutes, and sometimes until morning. If it happens when we’re still awake, everyone lets out a collective sigh. You can hear headlamps clicking, book pages turning, soft laughter. Generators kick on and sound like the rumble of thunder.

ugandan pastoral

Imagine a rickshaw – the red vinyl padded seat and unmistakable nylon fringe, the jostling ride along congested city streets, jerking and splashing through puddles of old rain and run-off, past busy markets and yelling hawkers, bleating horns and static from a thousand local radio stations.

Mute the sound until all you can hear is the soft, tinkling bell of a line of bicycles. Erase the people – all of them, and the dusty, reddish brown familiar look of the city streets. Fill the horizon back in with an empty blue sky, stretching in all directions and meeting a green horizon, the thin winding thread of the red dirt track. Round mud huts with brown, white and gray geometric designs and thatched rooftops appear in the foreground. An occasional cow (long pointed horns), a solitary goat (it’s bleating replaces the horns). The red vinyl padded seat with the yellow nylon fringe is adhered to the back of an old ten-speed bicycle. The owner welded little handles and pegs to make the ride smoother, but it already feels like you’re floating. He is in front of you and you glance at his t-shirt; his sandaled feet, peddling diligently to Achora school on the outskirts of Apac Town.

The column of bicycle bodas (all 16 Americans and three accompanying Ugandans) turns the corner into the school’s fields and the bells tinkle once more, filling the quiet air like a stream of cold water over smooth rocks. A large acacia tree and the open air classrooms come into view, as well as hundreds of school children in blue-and-white checked shirts, blue shorts and purple dresses – all seated below a large mango tree and patiently awaiting the arrival of the mzungu parade. One little boy kicks the dust and the chickens scatter. Giggling ensues.

we are the world, we are the children

As my third trip to Uganda, this was also my third trip to Paicho Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camp, home to just over 11,000 outside of Gulu. It is a four hour walk from town in the oft-scorching sun of northern Uganda. I never get used to witnessing the poverty in the camps; seeing Paicho hasn’t ceased to turn my stomach. I am immediately and consistently struck by the desolation. The charm of rural life around Gulu is lost on this space, which is congested enough to disorient, eternally dusty (except when it is eternally muddy), and seemingly devoid of all hope.

Half of Paicho’s residents are children, many of whom lost their parents to either the conflict or AIDS. It is this issue of missing parents that struck me the most during this visit. It seemed as if the camp’s adults had all mysteriously disappeared. Aside from a few elderly and some men drinking local brew in a bar, it was now largely overrun with kids – dirty kids, naked kids, kids carrying baby brothers or sisters on their backs, kids suffering from kwashiorkor, kids filled with worms and kids chewing on plastic bits found on the ground.

The Juba Peace Talks reached a milestone in the last few weeks when the third portion of the five-part agreement was signed, signifying a consensus reached on accountability and reconciliation. Involved parties are saying that the talks have reached a point of no return - anticipating a finalized agreement by September of this year.

On the ground, this translates into anbother notch of success in strengthening the fragile sense of security in the region. After a decade of life in the camps, IDPs are going home. At Paicho, this means that during the day adults and older children are traveling to their ancestral lands to begin digging and planting – a return to the rich agricultural tradition of Acholiland, and a hopeful sign for a people beginning to feed themselves. The signal of a future step away from the packs from UN World Food Program. It truly is a sign of hope, albeit a mixed one for the children back at Paicho, who are unsupervised until about 2 p.m., when the adults typically return from tilling the land. Another fold in the ever-complex issue of achieving peace and development in this region.

gulu at dusk

bamboozled on the equator

The first few steps off the plane in Entebbe in January flooded my senses - that woodsmoke smell and the vague dampness in the sun-drenched equatorial air. Walking down the steps onto the tarmac I breathed out the dry, recirculated Heathrow air and took in huge gulps of Uganda. Six months later I looked out the rain-streaked plate glass window and saw a sky full of thick, blank clouds. I shuffled out of the plane and felt goosebumps from the cold. It felt just like March in Washington.

Rainy season technically ended in May in Uganda, but I learned from expats and locals alike that the weather has been very strange here lately. The temperatures are cool and the rain pours down a couple times per day. It's thrown me for a complete loop and I can't help but wonder if maybe Mr. Gore is onto something. Shivering at night in my travel sheets certainly feels like climate change.

The combination of the unruly weather and that 12-hour transitory gap in Dubai rocked my physical and mental well-being. After running this morning (dodging Ugandan pedestrians, boda bodas and pits of thick red mud), I almost collapsed while brushing my teeth. Instead of feeling invigorated and excited, I'm feeling completely disoriented - as if a giant magnet messed with my internal compass. Where am I?

a note from the transitory gap. dubai, uae

My backpack weighes some 25 odd kilos, about the same as a fat, annoying 8 year old kid. My intense fear of running out of reading material far surpassed any other reservations I held about spending two months in east Africa. All those kilos are countless pages of 16 books wedged between my yoga mat, tank tops and malaria meds. So at least I have that.

It is 12:45 am in Dubai, and while I am fervently typing on my shiny new international blackberry (two thumbs, lips pursed, forehead scrunched), all the reclining seats in the glassed-in Quiet Lounge are filled with mummified travelers wrapped tightly in stolen Emirates Air blankets and eye covers. Everyone is waiting to be lurched forth to their final destination, and there is a dunkin donuts calling me from across the concourse. It is one of the weirder moments I've had...feeling entirely unrooted in space and time.

Le Musique Afrique

My taste in music has diversified at an alarming pace this past year. While I still get melodramatic to the likes of Sigur Ros and Alexi Murdoch, warmer weather has me craving faster, more up-beat-beats. Happy stuff. Something that makes me as happy as I am when I'm all dusty on the back of a boda-boda. Or floating upside down with my head in the Nile. Love for music, I'd like to introduce you to Africa. Check out my two favorites.

Issa Bagayogo (Mali) - a good friend burned this CD for me when she first heard I was traveling to Uganda. Even though it's West African, it provided a memorable soundtrack for the visit. Historically, Mali is the source of much of the world's pop music (blues, R&B, hip hop, funk, etc.). Unlike other new artists that blend traditional African beats with Western pop, Techno Isso (as he's called in Mali), records his tracks at home - in Bamako. He's doing a great deal to continue the Malian music tradition into the 21st century.

The Sierra Leone Refugee All Stars (Sierra Leone, photo above left) - when I first heard this band at my friend Carrie's house last fall, I immediately liked the music. It wasn't until last night that I learned the story behind the band's beginnings - through a documentary (see it on PBS June 26th!) of the same name at the DC Filmfest. In short, six Sierra Leonean musicians, all refugees of their country's brutal civil war, came together to form the band while living in a camp in Guinea. Facing deep physical and emotional scars, they found healing in the creation of their music, and used it to give a voice to the masses of Sierra Leoneans living outside the borders of their homeland. The reggae beats definitely have a universal appeal (what initially attracted my attention), but the lasting impression is in the honesty of lyrics expressing the difficulties of the refugee experience.

you left your country to seek refuge in another man's land
you left your country to seek refuge in another man's land
you will be comforted by strange dialects, you will be fed with unusual diets
you've got to sleep in a tarpaulin house, which is so hot
you've got to sleep on a tarpaulin mat, which is so cold
living like a refugee is not easy
living like a refugee is not easy

Of blooms, melting ice and despots

It's spring in DC, which means that cherry blossoms are in full bloom, there's a green mist spreading over the city, and a good number of days with temps over 70 degrees. I've been running/climbing/down-dogging like a maniac, and generally enjoying the good fortune of this weather and my new-found energy. That said, I'm finding that while frolicking amongst all of this beauty and activity, I have less to actually say.

I am reading some interesting things, and I'm pleased with the coverage that two issues have been getting in the media lately:

GLOBAL WARMING (generally)
and
ZIMBABWE (specifically)

When I say "the media," I'm actually referring only to The Economist and NYT - because I've been catching up on back issues and my daily NYT emails. This week's Economist alone included pieces focusing on things like pros and cons of ethanol, Supreme Court ruling on the Clean Air Act, drowning seals in Canada, and the scary findings of the latest report from the UNS's Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change - which found that we may lose 25% of all species by 2100. I hope that all of this press must mean good things for the green movement, and swift policy change...at least the IPCC's report has laid to rest the argument that global warming is a fictional idea made up by crazy liberals. All of this information is complimented visually by Planet Earth in HD on the Discovery Channel, where Sigourney Weaver's smooth, NPR-like voice guides us across our amazing planet - and pays careful attention to flora, fauna and landscapes that are deleteriously affected by warming.

As for Zimbabwe. Public acts of violence against the opposition party leaders in the country have served to bring international media attention once again to Robert Mugabe's ridiculous dictatorship. The Economist has been covering the story for the past few weeks, pressing the international community (particularly Zimbabwe's neighbor, South Africa) to encourage his stepping down. Regional support for bringing his disastrous rule to an end has been weak, to say the least. Mugabe's leadership was birthed amidst the "freedom fighters," when he led a guerilla war in the 1970s to liberate what was then Rhodesia from minority white rule. Despite hopeful beginnings, his persistent presidency has seen the freefall of Zimbabwe's economy, the highest inflation rates in the world, and a tragically plunging life expectancy (now only 34 for females - down from 63 ten years ago). Hopes were much higher a few weeks ago for transition to new rule - it doesn't look like Mugabe, 83 years old and planning to rule to 100, is going anywhere. At least not for now.

'Cause ev'ry little thing's gonna be all right

In 1989, the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, Article 38, proclaimed "State parties shall take all feasible measures to ensure that persons who have not attained the age of 15 years do not take a direct part in hostilities." This is one of many sections of International Human Rights and Humanitarian Law that condemn the use of child soldiers. Despite these laws, Amnesty International estimates that there are more than 300,000 children involved in violent conflicts around the world today - with 200,000 of those children living in sub-Saharan Africa.

I can remember the most minute details of the afternoon I spent at GUSCO in northern Uganda last June - with an 11-year-old boy that had escaped captivity the day before our arrival. I can see him sitting next to me right now, looking down, kicking at the dusty ground with feet that looked too large to be attached to his skinny legs. He is fumbling with a pack of gum - a gift from one of the American students. I remember the enormous smile that spread across his face when I rubbed his back, and then I remember putting on Leketa's enormous sunglasses to hide my tears when we were waiting for our matatu to leave. The small moments I spent with him triggered a landslide in my mind - shifting the war in northern Uganda from being something I simply read about to being something both tangible and horrifying.

Last week I finished reading A Long Way Gone, the first account of child soldiering actually written by a former child soldier - Ishmael Beah. I was lucky enough to meet him at a lecture and book signing at Politics and Prose on Monday night. I was immediately struck by his small stature - the way he looked like a child lost in his father's corduroy blazer. But as he began to speak to the age-diverse crowd of 300 readers, his presence grew to fill the entire room.

Beah's writing picked up where I left off that day at GUSCO - when I drove off on the dusty road with a pounding headache and a feeling of helplessness. He spends a great deal of time in the book relating details about his rehabilitation process at the UNICEF camp in Freetown. He speaks honestly about his roiling anger, his withdrawal from the "brown brown" that numbed his senses as he fought, his painful separation from the military unit that had become a family of sorts. When asked at the book signing "which was more difficult - learning to kill, or re-learning to lead a peaceful, civilian life?" Beah didn't hesitate - losing your humanity is easy - it's re-gaining it and healing that is the most painful process of all. While the boy at GUSCO was safe from the horrors of war, he had a battle to fight that I couldn't have begun to comprehend.

As conflict-ridden countries approach peace, they teeter on an abyss of psychological healing that is so vast as to be immeasurable. Individual stories like Beah's enliven the resiliency of the human spirit...and give us hope.

Head case

Copout. I'm suffering from blogger's block. I've been burning up my brain cells every day from 8 to 5, and wearing my glasses constantly, which makes me look even more dorky and exhausted than I actually feel. It's number numbers numbers and still playing catch up from the Uganda interlude.

On Wednesday morning it started snowing when I took Henry out before work. At about 2 p.m. I spun around in my chair to look out the window and saw that the snow from the morning hadn't stopped falling. I stared for what must have been a quarter of an hour, in awe at how gently the snow was falling. It was like I'd never seen it before. I pushed my printer to the side of it's cabinet and propped my feet up to continue watching the tiny little flakes dance and caress the ugly gray patio bricks.

The past week has been a ball of frenzied activity, from trying to set up coffee with my always-elusive Darfur/LRA expert to setting up a wholly unrealistic workout schedule that involves running, biking, climbing, pilates, and yoga. Yeah, right. Each night it's as if the Orange line runs right over me in my apt. I eat about 13 Chips Ahoy cookies, chug a glass of milk and wake up at 2 a.m. in my clothes wondering what hit me.

Ryszard Kapuscinski

Ryszard Kapuscinski (1932-2007)

You know that get-to-know-you game, where someone asks you if you could spend a day with anyone, living or dead, who would it be? Kapuscinski is probably in my top five.

Where would we go? I like to imagine we would be somewhere on the Continent, maybe up in Gulu, on the balcony at Hotel Kakanyero, sipping ice-cold passion fruit juice. I could easily see us sitting at the be-checkered tables with the little metal chairs, fuzzy radio crackling BBC in the background. That's probably a bit too cliche. Instead maybe it would be winter, and we'd sit shivering on a park bench in some unidentifiable city somewhere in the northern hemisphere, peering over our scarves. I don't even know what I would ask him. I tend to talk constantly. Maybe this time I would just listen. Would he be speaking Polish?

Early on in The Soccer War, after his first assignment in Africa, Kapuscinski asks to be sent to Congo. He plainly states "I'm already caught up in it. I've already got the fever." I prefer his writing about Africa, which is blunt. Honest. Maybe I'd tell him about my affliction with Africa, so as to relate my experience to his. My bug likes to creep up on me with cruel subtlety - debilitating me one tiny cell at a time, until I'm in full-on "Africa mode" and can't much concentrate on anything else. Sometimes it looks like a social life (drum circle, African dance classes), and others it just looks like depression (why am I here, and, consequently, not there?).

Maybe I'd ask him what he recommends as a cure. He might inform me that it's actually an incurable ailment, to which I'd likely nod. And let out a nervous laugh.

Pack the suitcase. Unpack it, pack it, unpack it, pack it: typewriter, passport, ticket, airport, stairs, airplane, fasten seat-belt, take off, unfasten seat belt, flight, rocking, sun, stars, space, hips of strolling stewardesses, sleep, clouds, falling engine speed, fasten seat-belt, descent, circling, landing, earth, unfasten seat-belts, stairs, airport, immunization book, visa, customs, taxi, streets, houses, people, hotel, key, room, stuffiness, thirst, otherness, foreignness, loneliness, waiting, fatigue, life.

Keeping the Peace?

Keep this tent empty! At the height of the conflict in northern Uganda, this tent at Gulu Support the Children Organization (GUSCO) housed over 400 formerly abducted child soldiers.

The critical ceasefire agreement, signed last summer by the Lord's Resistance Army and the Ugandan military, is set to expire today. Do your part - call on Congress to act and do their part to put an end to the fighting in Northern Uganda once and for all. The suggestions for action that follow are provided by Uganda Conflict Action Network (Uganda-CAN):

We are asking you to join us in calling Members of Congress to sign a resolution introduced by Senator Feingold (D-WI) and Senator Brownback (R-KS), which calls on the Government and LRA to return to the peace talks, and for the U.S. to do all that it can to make sure this opportunity to achieve peace in northern Uganda is not lost.

Call Your Members of Congress to Pass the Feingold/Brownback Resolution Today!

• WHO TO CALL: The resolution has been introduced into both the House and Senate, so please call both your Senators and your Representative. To find out the contact information for your Members of Congress, click here and type in your zip code. You can also call the Capital Switchboard at 202-224-3121 and ask to be connected to your representatives.



• WHAT TO SAY: Here is an example of what you can say: "Hi, my name is _____ from ______, and I'm calling Senator/Representative _______ to express my concern about today's expiration of the ceasefire in northern Uganda. I urge Senator/Represenative _____ to vote in favor of the resolution led by Senators Feingold and Brownback, which urges the Government of Uganda and rebel Lord's Resistance Army to resume negotiations and renew the ceasefire. The lives of two million people displaced by this conflict, and tens of thousands of abducted children depend on the success of these negotiations."
  If you can, it helps to personalize the message; a personal connection emphasizes how important the issue really is to you.



• WHAT TO EXPECT: Most likely, the staff members in the Congressional offices you call will just take down your name and zip code and thank you for your call. If they ask you for additional thoughts, you can say more about why you care about the crisis in northern Uganda, or consider mentioning some of the following points:
  

The Juba talks are the most viable opportunity there is to achieve peace in northern Uganda, and with international attention, they can succeed.

The U.S. should send an envoy to show support for the talks, and provide assistance to the team that is monitoring the ceasefire.

The Ugandan military should also be expected to and assisted in protecting the millions of people in northern Uganda who have been displaced by the conflict.

A return to civil war, as may result from the expiration of the ceasefire truce, would yield disastrous results for the people of northern Uganda and for regional stability.

Together, thousands of us will demand today that this new Congress shows moral leadership for peace in northern Uganda!

IYVS 2007 + a scary bat rumor

After a very [very] long ride from Midway on the "L," I'm currently living it up in Evanston, Illinois, representing GYPA at the second annual International Youth Volunteerism Summit (IYVS) held at Northwestern University. We're leading three workshops:

"Building bridges between grassroots activism and high-level international decision-making"

"Maximizing Short Term International Learning Experiences"

"Critical Reflection"

I will post more info and stories from the summit in the coming days, so stay tuned for some in-depth analysis of what we learned here.

Until then, here's a tiny tidbit from the odd news feed. Earlier this afternoon I received an email from "Bat Demon," notifying me of a strange phenomenon that's been plaguing East Africa as of late. It appears that superstition and witchcraft are alive and well, especially in the rural parts of the region, where this bat demon has been sexually assaulting villagers. Locals claim it originated in Zanzibar, where reports of its existence have been common for many years. Check out this BBC news story for more details. The bat demon story reminds me of jinn, a genie-like spirit that makes frequent appearances throughout the Muslim world, including areas of Somalia and Uganda. The existence of these spirits seems to run parallel with the presence of brutal conflict and a lack of education in a particular area. Tradition supports this line of thought, as jinn are supposedly repulsed by the mental "noise" created by education. Hence they tend to torment rural, illiterate women. The Economist wrote up an interesting piece on the topic in their holiday edition this past year.

Back here in Evanston, I'm still thinking of bats. I can't help but wonder if this mischevious bat demon is actually "Icebat" the Uglydoll plush toy Carrie purchased at the local Evanston comic book store, where we spent upwards of a whole dorky hour yesterday trying to choose which Uglydolls to bring home with us. The winners? Icebat, two Moxys and a Chuckanucka. They really are ugly.

The wind is howling in off Lake Michigan, reminding us of how frigid it is outside. Luckily with the massive amount of noise in my head, I don't have to worry about jinn paying me a visit tonight. As for Icebat, he's on the nightstand and he's creeping me out.

Open Season: GYPA Summer Trips

This summer Global Youth Partnership for Africa (GYPA) will send 40 American students to Africa to meet with their counterparts in Uganda and Cameroon. The Immersion trips will give American students the unique opportunity to explore the role of youth in development, peace-building, and health promotion first-hand. Our goal is to expand international youth networks, encourage greater understanding about Africa, and inspire an ongoing dialogue and partnership between young American and African leaders. Participants will engage in discussions regarding conflict resolution, economic development, post-conflict rehabilitation, HIV/AIDS, and gender issues, among others. Students with backgrounds or interests in any of the above fields are encouraged to apply! Interested students may apply to just one or all three of the programs. Applications, accepted on a rolling basis, are due no later than Tuesday, April 3, 2007. Please visit the GYPA website to download the official immersion program descriptions and to fill out an application. Contact Carrie Stefansky at carrie@gypafrica.org with any questions.

I will be leading the following trip:

Uganda Immersion: “Youth, Development, and Peace-Building”
July 2 –18, 2007

Uganda faces dramatic challenges, including poverty, political marginalization, and HIV/AIDS; however, it is also at a crossroads. This fall, peace talks brought about a cessation of hostilities in the 20-year civil war in northern Uganda. Now is a critical time to examine the many questions that remain regarding reconstruction and rehabilitation and, particularly, the role youth can play in solving them. What factors brought about a transformation in the conflict? What role do Ugandans see for the international community in the post-conflict environment? How can Uganda help to provide stability of the Great Lakes region? What steps need to be taken to protect and provide for vulnerable populations, such as refugees, internally displaced persons, and orphans?

The Immersion will provide a first-hand look at Uganda through dialogue, cultural exchange, and direct service. Students will gain a unique perspective on issues such as economic development, democracy-building, and transitional justice. The program will include opportunities to meet directly with community-based organizations, international non-governmental organizations, and other young leaders in Kampala and northern Uganda.

Feel-good shopping news?

Way back in October I wrote a post about Product Red -- and half-jokingly talked about how ethical shopping can change the world (in reality I was just trying to make myself feel better about my excessive consumerism). Today, as I was reading up on Inhabitat, I came across EPIC. Are you an ethical, progressive, and intelligent consumer? Hell yes I am! My first thought was to book a plane ticket to Vancouver as soon as possible so that I could be among other cool EPICs...but then I began to wonder if it might be the new millenium's yuppie-fest. How beneficial can ethical shopping really be?

The Economist article "Voting with your trolley" (7 Dec 2006) sparked a lively debate on whether or not ethical food shopping actually makes a difference in the world. When faced with the enormous challenges of world poverty and climate change, the average person feels overwhelmed and helpless. Buying locally, choosing organic food or purchasing Fairtrade products seems like an easy enough lifestyle shift that can make a difference. But does it?

Many argue that ethical food shopping is like the traditional "vote with your feet" argument (tip of the hat to Mr. Charles Tiebout). When you don't like the package of public goods (schools, infrastructure, etc.) being provided in the community in which you live, pack up shop and choose a community that provides the mix and quality of public goods you're looking for. This forces communities to be competitive...or so the argument goes. Now apply this to shopping. If the masses start purchasing more organic/locally-produced/fair trade products, the market will have to respond - the message will travel the lengthy journey of the supply chain from the consumer to the producer. This phenomenon is pretty visible - lots of grocery store chains (including Wal-Mart) now carry their own organic food lines. But are all aspects of these products actually beneficial? Here are some interesting arguments against the buzz words:

• FAIR TRADE: Economists argue against subsidies because they encourage overproduction. So while Fairtrade farmers are earning a higher price for their crops, the overproduction is driving down the prices received by non-Fairtrade farmers making them relatively worse-off. In addition, the Fairtrade premium creates a disincentive for farmers to diversify their crops. Some also argue that the Fairtrade certification policies to not help the majority of poor farmers - those who work on large plantations that are ineligible for Fairtrade status.


• ORGANIC: A Nobel-peace-prize-winning agriculturist (think Green Revolution) argues that organic farming (without fertilizers and pesticides) produces less output, which in turn requires more land - leaving much less land for forests. How environmentally friendly is that?


• LOCALLY-PRODUCED: The main argument for buying locally combines supporting local farmers and decreasing "food miles" - the distance your food travels from the source to your table. However, a study in the UK found that majority of food miles are racked up between home and the grocery store/farmers market. In addition, studies found that it's (in many cases) more efficient and environmentally-friendly to truck in veggies from someplace warm than to grow them in hothouses. And what about the boost in trade and development received in developing countries get when we import our food from outside the US?
  

My opinion remains the same - expos like EPIC are creating a more mainstream and popular image of the "sustainable lifestyle" - and this makes it more easily digestable for the yuppie masses, who aren't ready to turn in their pointy-toe boots for Birkenstocks. The stereotype of the environmentalist/social activist is changing, and I think that's great. Keep the talk going - the more people become aware, the more solutions we'll see - and maybe (just maybe) the movement will advance beyond changing consumer habits, to something more concrete like changing policy. In the meantime, I'll look for flights to Vancouver.

Shameless self promotion

2006 Uganda Best of Blogs Awards.
Go here. Scroll down to Best Photography selection. Vote.