Kope Cafe...wow. what a trip. Just thinking about this name is exciting, although the meaning (no worries) sometimes contradicts the craziness of opening up this coffee and tea house in the middle of Gulu, Uganda. I love the freedom I have been given with this project. It started as a dream of Jolly Okot's, and was pushed to the surface by the action of Katie Bradel. Katie and Jolly have worked tremendously hard to get this project off the ground, and have really laid a great foundation for me to step in. Katie, who has lived in Gulu for nearly 3 years, is one of the founders of Invisible Children's presence in Uganda. She spent the last year working on getting a place in town for Kope Cafe. What she found was perfect. The building stands in the middle of town, across from the biggest radio station called Mega (Kope has a Mega View...get it?) It is a brick building with a great front patio. Katie had a wall knocked down to allow two rooms to come together, so we have two large rooms for the cafe, and two smaller rooms to serve as a kitchen and back room. The building is a storefront that has an entire apartment complex behind it. Miraculously all of the neighbors thus far are really cool, and supportive. These three cute kids call me Uncle and are always peeking in to see the progress. Katie also helped Jolly make the furniture. It is all made of wood, painted black, and look great. There are 5 big couches and 4 chairs with 1 long table. We have 2 other tables, and some bar stools all made out of the same furniture. Plastic chair capitol of the World, Gulu isn't going to know what do think when they see this furniture.
So, Katie left with those big goals accomplished. On her final day, she handed me the keys, the money she had raised for starting the project, and the words "run with it". I stood in this huge, echoey empty room, furniture sitting still wet with paint, and took a big breath. Excitement of the challenge has motivated me ever since. Of course there is that nervousness, especially trying to stick to such a tight budget, while working with Acholi people who think Americans come from a land where money actually is handed to you when you step out into the street every day. (An actual conversation with a local).
So, the project has begun. Hours before Katie flew home, we met with a couple coffee distributors in Kampala. The one we gravitated to was this company called Good African Coffee. It is a new company, Ugandan run, whose motto is "Africa needs trade, not aid to fight poverty". They give 50 percent of profits back to the communities where they get their beans. They invest back in these Ugandan farm communities. I am planning to go on a Coffee Safari to see how it works. But they are willing to distribute to us- meaning they will send coffee every week on a bus headed for Gulu, where we will recieve it at the bus park 4 blocks away. It was an exciting meeting, and more thrilling was visiting coffee shops in Kampala where I was totally inspired by their ambiance. Living in Gulu for so long, I bet even walking into a Quiznos at this point would look stylish.
I went back up to Gulu and cancelled my plans to travel to Ethiopia, because I felt so hungry to start. With the help of the most eccentric designer in town, Franco, we began to pick colors for the cafe, and buy paint. It is great to have an Acholi designer, because in Gulu, there are not many people that make a living doing art of any kind. They people here are just waking up out of twenty years of survival mode. Creativity has not been honored or practiced for two decades. It is a subtle intention of Kope Café to influence creative thinking. For years, creativity has not been encouraged beyond survival methods. In school, the students are taught using an outdated British system of rote memorization. There has not been any money or motivation to support creative efforts due to the war. Thus, there is an obvious lack of a developed creative thought process in the general Acholi populous. In example, when NGO researchers for Invisible Children asked people in the IDP camps what businesses they could think of that would generate business, their ideas only rotated around what they had already seen in town. They could not imagine other possible ideas. As well, when I was surveying people to ask what colors to paint Kope Café, a typical response were the colors that were typical to all of the other buildings in town. One man even suggested I repaint it the same color it currently was. I am hoping that in some way, Kope Café will serve as a place of creative inspiration, challenging the status quo and influencing others to think outside the box, in unique, innovative ways.
The Acholi co-designer of Kope Café, Franco, is completely supportive of this idea, acknowledging that now is the time for a revolution of thought. Coffee and coffeehouses have been a meaningful part of community life for centuries, in Europe as well as in America. They have been associated with political upheaval, writers’ movements and intellectual debate in Venice Vienna, Paris and Berlin. It has become painstakingly clear that Gulu does not have any venue for artists and thinkers to come together in a public setting. In a historic time in Gulu, as peace appears on the horizon, Acholis are going to be transitioning from a “survival mode” living standard to one that will want to explore their creativity, and critical thinking. Perhaps this will serve as a place of political debate and inspiration for change.
While at this point, this is all wishful speculation for the existence of Kope, I will continue to paint, sand and pour my heart into this project. More updates to come next week...
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
The End
So, the Internship came to an end. Assuming that a summer spent in a culture that excuses all late meetings with “African time” would allow me a slow, methodical experience, I was caught surprised when it passed with the same speed that I’m sure all of yours did. As mid- August came and went, this inner turmoil began. Competing emotions tumbled around in a mental Laundromat. Yearning to see family and friends, I also felt it was impossible to leave, as I had only scratched the surface of what I wanted to accomplish in Uganda. To further encourage this inner drive to stay, I was offered a job and opportunity that presented a pretty ideal way to stay out here.
The following passage chronicles one of the most unique weekends I have ever had, which gives the context for what decision I made, in regards to my life beyond the internship. If you are short on time and want to know my future plans post- Internship Uganda, just skip this blog and move to the one below it titled: “My life and job anew”. The pictures that follow that blog serve as a visual to the story I am about to tell, a weekend pilgrimage with the choir to Kalongo, Uganda for a huge ceremony.
August 19th came, the known deadline for deciding whether or not to use the plane ticket, which had sat in my room for the last three months, dated August 26th. With only a week left, I boldy asked for an extension through the weekend to clear my head. I had been in Gulu for months on end without getting out of this one-horse town (literally- when I asked if there were any horse in Gulu, a guy responded, “yeah, one… over there by the Cathedral). It was the perfect weekend to get out of town, as my choir was planning a journey to sing at the Ordination of a well-respected Deacon. This event had been highly anticipated, (how much so, I did not even understand at this point) but we had been practicing intensively for a month, every day in preparation of this event. Each choir member had struggled for months to pay the required 13 dollars to travel there. Their determination to go was proved in singing at the Invisible Children office party. Twenty five people showed up in their formal wear, and sung into the night, walking back home, to earn enough money to pay for four of their members to go on this trip. The Choir Master, also the principal at one of the schools that Invisible Children is sponsoring, wrote permission slips, asking that each choir member be excused from their jobs on Friday to attend. Friday morning came, and nearly all 80 people showed up to board an enormous truck (called a Lorry, which in the States would never be seen as a possible means to haul anything but construction materials) rented from the local all-girls Catholic High School.
Leaving Friday morning, we trekked past vast blurs of “bush”. 300 kilometers of red-dirt road, filled with pot holes and deep, rain drenched sand led us. As we bumped along, the Lorry blazed past dark clouds emitting tremendous lightening bolts that shocked the sky on either side of this roofless truck, but for some uncanny reason, there was always blue sky right above us. As if we had a special VIP ticket to travel from heaven and God was looking down from his aerial view to see this pathetic orange truck bobbing along in the middle of this chaotic ominous environment, he seemed to be swayed by the continuous hymns that faintly hovered over this faith driven truck, that he decided to spare it from harm. Through treacherous, imminently impending obstacles, the truck cruised on. Every time a pot hole was directly hit, the whole truck would jump, and everyone would uniformly lift an inch. In response to this discomfort, I would clench my teeth in anger and self-pity, while the other 70 on board would respond by shrieking in laughter and joy. Slowly, over the course of the 8 hour expedition, I shredded all standards and expectations of comfort, and learned from these ever-adaptable people. They met each challenge with acceptance, tolerance and a sense of shared togetherness. The younger ones would jump out and push when the truck would get stuck, and collectively fix the tires when they would give out. The voyage came to full fruition upon seeing Kalongo- a green Empire towering over endlessly flat African plains. It was the gate of a mountain chain that dramatically rose out of nowhere. It completely caught me off guard to see mountains- which I hadn’t seen for three months, and the majority of my choir hadn’t seen ever. It excited me beyond what I would have expected. It brought me home, to what I love most, nature in trees, green and dramatic levels in landscape. It was a beautiful arrival scene, as the sun was just cresting over the top of the mountain and the church stood proudly at its base. The whole scene was something out of an old dream. Handmade streamers swept the sky, wrapping around the outdoor arena, greeting us in the spirit of this weekend celebration. Throngs of people were gathered to greet us, Acholis from all over the North were arriving in whatever transport they could arrange. Dirty and dusty, I was now better understanding the magnitude of this event, as thousands of people were to attend this ceremony.
That night, bathing using faucet, sleeping on floor mat, and waking to drink tea from a bucket made for hundreds of visitors, I knew that I had somehow stumbled upon an experience that few outsiders had ever seen. This was true modern Acholi culture in action. I was realizing a totally different set of priorities than those of the West. Here, they cared most about savoring the joy in each other, in community, and in this moment of simple pleasure. It was very interesting. The ceremony was incredible. It was the unique mix of Catholicism with Acholi culture. The Priest-to-be was carried in on a seat by 20 other deacons. Dancing in celebration, women in their bras, and men in their loincloth outfits stomped their feet, and chanted in procession. Women throwing flowers came next, and a whole procession of priests and the Bishop followed, dressed in white robes. Our choir joined four other choirs- all singing the same songs, the Deacon visiting each choir months before to present the songs, some written personally for his own ceremony. Drums wailed, and the sound of this now 200- person choir rolled up the entire mountain behind us, into the heavens. After the ceremony, the celebration, dancing and singing continued into the evening, as a dinner was served to hundreds of people.
The following day, Sunday, I was determined to climb up the mountain. I had met two really cool Seminarians my age, and they were willing to sacrifice a Sunday Mass to physically reach heaven. We set off at dawn, and headed out, first getting clearance from the military, who had a fort on top to watch for threats to security. We spent the morning climbing up this massively impressive rock. We talked of philosophy and religion, and I really came to really respect their viewpoint. That respect increased exponentially when I found out that both of these guys, who had quickly become friends, had both been abducted by the LRA. One of the guys was willing to describe his life spent with the rebel army, even detailing how he and his Mother, and sister were abducted, forced to walk for days on end without food, and then permanently separated. It was a tragic story, but his attitude towards it, deeply rooted in faith, was incredible.
We reached the top of the mountain, at the same height as the clouds. I explained to them that this was how it looked outside of an airplane’s windows. Immersed in clouds, we couldn’t see anything below, but could only guess how far up we were, judging by the faint music that filtered up from the Mass going on, thousands of feet below. We spent time praying and meditating, when suddenly, the clouds were rushed out of the way by a new wind. Sun reigned down, as an incomprehensible scene emerged, mountain ranges dotting an ever-expanding horizon. The African plains were endless, towns and people like blips of activity- almost insignificant in their ant-like efforts. It was then and there, as I looked out over this vast green landscape, I realized there was so much more I had to explore, learn and do in East Africa. I descended the mountain, while monkeys climbed the rocks, and farmers picked groundnuts, knowing that this final frontier was where I was meant to be for the next year.
The following passage chronicles one of the most unique weekends I have ever had, which gives the context for what decision I made, in regards to my life beyond the internship. If you are short on time and want to know my future plans post- Internship Uganda, just skip this blog and move to the one below it titled: “My life and job anew”. The pictures that follow that blog serve as a visual to the story I am about to tell, a weekend pilgrimage with the choir to Kalongo, Uganda for a huge ceremony.
August 19th came, the known deadline for deciding whether or not to use the plane ticket, which had sat in my room for the last three months, dated August 26th. With only a week left, I boldy asked for an extension through the weekend to clear my head. I had been in Gulu for months on end without getting out of this one-horse town (literally- when I asked if there were any horse in Gulu, a guy responded, “yeah, one… over there by the Cathedral). It was the perfect weekend to get out of town, as my choir was planning a journey to sing at the Ordination of a well-respected Deacon. This event had been highly anticipated, (how much so, I did not even understand at this point) but we had been practicing intensively for a month, every day in preparation of this event. Each choir member had struggled for months to pay the required 13 dollars to travel there. Their determination to go was proved in singing at the Invisible Children office party. Twenty five people showed up in their formal wear, and sung into the night, walking back home, to earn enough money to pay for four of their members to go on this trip. The Choir Master, also the principal at one of the schools that Invisible Children is sponsoring, wrote permission slips, asking that each choir member be excused from their jobs on Friday to attend. Friday morning came, and nearly all 80 people showed up to board an enormous truck (called a Lorry, which in the States would never be seen as a possible means to haul anything but construction materials) rented from the local all-girls Catholic High School.
Leaving Friday morning, we trekked past vast blurs of “bush”. 300 kilometers of red-dirt road, filled with pot holes and deep, rain drenched sand led us. As we bumped along, the Lorry blazed past dark clouds emitting tremendous lightening bolts that shocked the sky on either side of this roofless truck, but for some uncanny reason, there was always blue sky right above us. As if we had a special VIP ticket to travel from heaven and God was looking down from his aerial view to see this pathetic orange truck bobbing along in the middle of this chaotic ominous environment, he seemed to be swayed by the continuous hymns that faintly hovered over this faith driven truck, that he decided to spare it from harm. Through treacherous, imminently impending obstacles, the truck cruised on. Every time a pot hole was directly hit, the whole truck would jump, and everyone would uniformly lift an inch. In response to this discomfort, I would clench my teeth in anger and self-pity, while the other 70 on board would respond by shrieking in laughter and joy. Slowly, over the course of the 8 hour expedition, I shredded all standards and expectations of comfort, and learned from these ever-adaptable people. They met each challenge with acceptance, tolerance and a sense of shared togetherness. The younger ones would jump out and push when the truck would get stuck, and collectively fix the tires when they would give out. The voyage came to full fruition upon seeing Kalongo- a green Empire towering over endlessly flat African plains. It was the gate of a mountain chain that dramatically rose out of nowhere. It completely caught me off guard to see mountains- which I hadn’t seen for three months, and the majority of my choir hadn’t seen ever. It excited me beyond what I would have expected. It brought me home, to what I love most, nature in trees, green and dramatic levels in landscape. It was a beautiful arrival scene, as the sun was just cresting over the top of the mountain and the church stood proudly at its base. The whole scene was something out of an old dream. Handmade streamers swept the sky, wrapping around the outdoor arena, greeting us in the spirit of this weekend celebration. Throngs of people were gathered to greet us, Acholis from all over the North were arriving in whatever transport they could arrange. Dirty and dusty, I was now better understanding the magnitude of this event, as thousands of people were to attend this ceremony.
That night, bathing using faucet, sleeping on floor mat, and waking to drink tea from a bucket made for hundreds of visitors, I knew that I had somehow stumbled upon an experience that few outsiders had ever seen. This was true modern Acholi culture in action. I was realizing a totally different set of priorities than those of the West. Here, they cared most about savoring the joy in each other, in community, and in this moment of simple pleasure. It was very interesting. The ceremony was incredible. It was the unique mix of Catholicism with Acholi culture. The Priest-to-be was carried in on a seat by 20 other deacons. Dancing in celebration, women in their bras, and men in their loincloth outfits stomped their feet, and chanted in procession. Women throwing flowers came next, and a whole procession of priests and the Bishop followed, dressed in white robes. Our choir joined four other choirs- all singing the same songs, the Deacon visiting each choir months before to present the songs, some written personally for his own ceremony. Drums wailed, and the sound of this now 200- person choir rolled up the entire mountain behind us, into the heavens. After the ceremony, the celebration, dancing and singing continued into the evening, as a dinner was served to hundreds of people.
The following day, Sunday, I was determined to climb up the mountain. I had met two really cool Seminarians my age, and they were willing to sacrifice a Sunday Mass to physically reach heaven. We set off at dawn, and headed out, first getting clearance from the military, who had a fort on top to watch for threats to security. We spent the morning climbing up this massively impressive rock. We talked of philosophy and religion, and I really came to really respect their viewpoint. That respect increased exponentially when I found out that both of these guys, who had quickly become friends, had both been abducted by the LRA. One of the guys was willing to describe his life spent with the rebel army, even detailing how he and his Mother, and sister were abducted, forced to walk for days on end without food, and then permanently separated. It was a tragic story, but his attitude towards it, deeply rooted in faith, was incredible.
We reached the top of the mountain, at the same height as the clouds. I explained to them that this was how it looked outside of an airplane’s windows. Immersed in clouds, we couldn’t see anything below, but could only guess how far up we were, judging by the faint music that filtered up from the Mass going on, thousands of feet below. We spent time praying and meditating, when suddenly, the clouds were rushed out of the way by a new wind. Sun reigned down, as an incomprehensible scene emerged, mountain ranges dotting an ever-expanding horizon. The African plains were endless, towns and people like blips of activity- almost insignificant in their ant-like efforts. It was then and there, as I looked out over this vast green landscape, I realized there was so much more I had to explore, learn and do in East Africa. I descended the mountain, while monkeys climbed the rocks, and farmers picked groundnuts, knowing that this final frontier was where I was meant to be for the next year.
The Beginning: My life and job anew
I have taken the position with Invisible Children. I will be in charge of the Internship Program, coordinating the Interns when they come to work for three months at a time (what I just did this summer). I will also be arranging all volunteer trips, and coordinating the activities and projects they will be involved in while here. This is a paid (finally) position that will allow me free housing and food as well. Pretty sweet deal, as I will also be dedicating every other waking hour on a project that I am most excited about…
Jolly Grace Okot, the woman in the Invisible Children film who first introduces the filmmakers to Gulu, and who now serves as the Country Director for the Organization in Uganda needs help. For the last decade, well before Invisible Children, she started an after-school program called HEALS. Standing for Health, Education, Art, Literacy and Sports, it serves a vital role in giving a stable foundation to over 200 vulnerable kids that lack any community or parental support due to this 21-year long war. HEALS serves as a place for play therapy, a program that Jolly was awarded a Nobel Peace Prize nomination for. Besides paying the children’s school fees, and giving guidance and health education, it encourages children to explore their creative and active sides. It provides art therapy, painting and photography lessons. It provides sport competitions. Most importantly in my opinion, it also preserves Acholi culture, which has quickly disintegrated within a generation due to the war and desperation of the majority of Northerners stuck in IDP camps. The children learn and perform traditional Acholi dances and learn the songs and instruments, and drums of their past. Elders and respected community members serve as mentors and instructors in this incredibly vital program for the community. It is a place of life, which anyone can witness on a Sunday afternoon, as the children perform their dances in the front yard of the HEALS center. Their dancing was recently captured by a photographer for Reuters and was circulated around Worldwide media outlets, becoming a “top ten photo of the week” most seen worldwide.
The funding for this dynamic program has been funded mostly by Jolly’s salary and random donations from visitors. It needs a consistent means of income. The idea to start an income generating restaurant has been ongoing idea for over a year. Led by Jolly and Katie Bradel, a San Diegan that has lived in Gulu for three years, together the two rented a great space in the middle of town. Now back in California, Katie is working on raising funds while I am going to spend the next year opening and running a coffe and tea house. As the first income-generating business of its kind in Gulu, it will be an interesting project that I am so excited to take on. It will combine a lot of my interests and past experiences, and allow a lot of creative freedom to design it. The intention is to serve great food and drink- fair-trade coffee and tea from East Africa. As well, this café will serve as the only venue that encourages creativity and supports local artists. Artwork will adorn the walls from the many talented but unacknowledged artists in the area. Local musicians will be encouraged to perform as well. It will be a place for locals and Westerners to come together. A relaxing “third place” that will give everyone an oasis from the harshness and chaos of life outside. It will equally give the foreign NGO workers the chance to be reminded of what quality service and atmosphere feels like. And for the locals, I am hoping that it will serve as cafés historically have in many societies. A place to share new ideas, to exchange thoughts and move from “survival” mode towards social progress, creativity and revolution.
It will also be the future goal to add wireless internet, which is accessible but expensive, to further bring in business. The café is to be called Kope, which means “no worries” in Lwo. If all goes well, Kope Café is scheduled to open in November. I will much more consistently be writing about the process of opening up this café. It will be a true challenge, but much like the Lorry plowing past obstacles, I am focused on the end goal. Stay tuned.
Jolly Grace Okot, the woman in the Invisible Children film who first introduces the filmmakers to Gulu, and who now serves as the Country Director for the Organization in Uganda needs help. For the last decade, well before Invisible Children, she started an after-school program called HEALS. Standing for Health, Education, Art, Literacy and Sports, it serves a vital role in giving a stable foundation to over 200 vulnerable kids that lack any community or parental support due to this 21-year long war. HEALS serves as a place for play therapy, a program that Jolly was awarded a Nobel Peace Prize nomination for. Besides paying the children’s school fees, and giving guidance and health education, it encourages children to explore their creative and active sides. It provides art therapy, painting and photography lessons. It provides sport competitions. Most importantly in my opinion, it also preserves Acholi culture, which has quickly disintegrated within a generation due to the war and desperation of the majority of Northerners stuck in IDP camps. The children learn and perform traditional Acholi dances and learn the songs and instruments, and drums of their past. Elders and respected community members serve as mentors and instructors in this incredibly vital program for the community. It is a place of life, which anyone can witness on a Sunday afternoon, as the children perform their dances in the front yard of the HEALS center. Their dancing was recently captured by a photographer for Reuters and was circulated around Worldwide media outlets, becoming a “top ten photo of the week” most seen worldwide.
The funding for this dynamic program has been funded mostly by Jolly’s salary and random donations from visitors. It needs a consistent means of income. The idea to start an income generating restaurant has been ongoing idea for over a year. Led by Jolly and Katie Bradel, a San Diegan that has lived in Gulu for three years, together the two rented a great space in the middle of town. Now back in California, Katie is working on raising funds while I am going to spend the next year opening and running a coffe and tea house. As the first income-generating business of its kind in Gulu, it will be an interesting project that I am so excited to take on. It will combine a lot of my interests and past experiences, and allow a lot of creative freedom to design it. The intention is to serve great food and drink- fair-trade coffee and tea from East Africa. As well, this café will serve as the only venue that encourages creativity and supports local artists. Artwork will adorn the walls from the many talented but unacknowledged artists in the area. Local musicians will be encouraged to perform as well. It will be a place for locals and Westerners to come together. A relaxing “third place” that will give everyone an oasis from the harshness and chaos of life outside. It will equally give the foreign NGO workers the chance to be reminded of what quality service and atmosphere feels like. And for the locals, I am hoping that it will serve as cafés historically have in many societies. A place to share new ideas, to exchange thoughts and move from “survival” mode towards social progress, creativity and revolution.
It will also be the future goal to add wireless internet, which is accessible but expensive, to further bring in business. The café is to be called Kope, which means “no worries” in Lwo. If all goes well, Kope Café is scheduled to open in November. I will much more consistently be writing about the process of opening up this café. It will be a true challenge, but much like the Lorry plowing past obstacles, I am focused on the end goal. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
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