It is my last week in Gulu, that dusty town in northern Uganda where I’ve come to feel at home. In many ways, I have less understanding of this place than I thought I once did. I have no bottled answers or final resolve in having “figured it out”. Instead, 14 months later, I uncomfortably and graciously accept a weightless position with my feet above my head, rather than standing in conquered triumph on Uganda’s highest peak. My time here was marked by different periods of thought where I believed I unlocked the secrets of this place only for those conclusions to be proved inconsistent or wrong. Only one underlying truth flowed beneath all periods and progressions (and regressions) of my time here; we must believe that joy is possible and that it matters.
Last week, my friend died in America. His mind beat him and beat him and beat him until he gave into its most possessive hyperactivity. In a moment of panic against what seemed impossible to beat, he silenced his mind….and the beating stopped. But it started for the rest of us. We now beat ourselves for what we could have done. The beat intensifies in a thousand homes in suburban America, as we see the underside of the dream. Meanwhile the beat goes on. Deep in East Africa, men and women idolize the American dream. It is wonderful to fathom- freedom, money, land, and the pursuit of happiness. Across that distant ocean, we look to be wealthy and successful. On the surface, Africa seems to have much larger problems in life. After all, it is plagued with poverty, an inescapable obstacle of its environment. However, in our modern culture, an invisible, undetectable and equally inescapable obstacle plagues our environment. Many of us, (including myself) live in mental and emotional poverty. Unbeknownst to the Ugandans who share this paper-thin slice of history with us, amongst our wealth and development, we are suffering a much deeper despair.
To revive the richness of life, we need to put joy back on our shelf of life priorities, a bottled jar, placed amongst “work ethic” and “family”, “achievement” and “pleasure.” Let us make joy happen just as much as our next business deal, or dinner date, or life goal. Some might argue that Ugandans should take life more seriously, but no one lives in more serious conditions than those of northern Uganda - and they believe in joy. They work for it. They exercise it. They make time out of their day for it. Even Jolly Okot, Country Director of Invisible Children, who has over 8,000 Ugandan lives hanging in her hands every month, will call people into her office during the day to make her laugh. She will walk the halls at 4:30 and joke with each employee, often shrieking for air in between her fits of laughter.
I don’t know if you’ve tried recently, but it takes a whole lot to laugh whole-heartedly. Trust me, for the last year I have tried to adopt this Ugandan talent. I would attempt to balance my American work ethic, while saving the laughing for reserved times when I didn’t have something else on my mind, but it doesn’t work that way here. A Ugandan has the developed skill to do both at once; to release joy straight from the heart and not rush the moment of pleasure that unfurls. Try it. It is almost impossible for most Westerners, myself included. It takes lightness, and presence in the moment. It takes joy.
Ugandans may seem underdeveloped and poor on the surface, but that is small matter, (seriously) compared to our (including myself) social poverty. The suffering we endure on the inside from social pressures and seriousness. This week, 14 days after my friend’s death, I have been dwelling in the dark room of sorrow. Burrowed deep, it has taken and still takes a lot to leave this room of despair, frustration, and waiting in line at the “unfair” complaint office without a receptionist. I don’t want to ever forget this friend, but he will be remembered just as well in the next room over where thousands of Ugandans are standing around with smiles to greet me and you. Let us find the courage to join them. Let us believe it is possible to find joy in the everyday, in the stress, in the despair, in the chaos. In the twenty-year war that has robbed each family of at least one beloved. We are all in it together. Let us learn from our rich brothers and sisters in Uganda. A culture that can exhibit this joy holds wealth beyond any material development in modern culture. Let us rediscover its value.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Day in the Life: IDP camp
Within minutes of the whistle blowing on a Friday afternoon, after a hectic workweek, I found my office environment warping into sunset on the back of a motorbike, with papyrus mat under my arm, a bag of beans and rice in the other, trying to enjoy the immense painting of colors all around me, while staying on the bike as it drove over crazy bumps in the red dirt road. The interns and I spent the night in a large IDP camp, Awer- 40,000 people crammed into a small space. But the space is beautiful, out in the middle of nowhere with rolling green hills all around. We slept in a hut on papyrus mats- comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. The sleep for me was restful but you still wake with sore muscles from the mat.
We were woken up at sunrise to "go to the garden for digging"...A five kilometer path led us to the "garden" where my friend Opio Walter's grandfather's plot of land was. Digging meant using a ho, to dig up the bushy land and turn it into more manageable soil. Ambitiously, I started out with vigor, only to find caluses popping on my hands by an hour's worth of work. After 3 hours, Walter lied and told us it was midday, time to head back. It was really only 10:30 but the sun was hot, and under the heat, he could tell we were naive to how unprepared we were for the day. I asked him to let me stay, but he insisted I could come back another time, that I had done enough for the day. Sure enough, after another 5 km walk back to the camp, as soon as I sat down, I realized that my shoulders seemed to be forcing themselves out of my skin, they pounded like laden dinosaur bones where my usual shoulders had been. Spent the rest of the day in Walter's hut, resting like a typical Mzungu, as women twice my age worked all day long. If only I had a pair of gloves- but the women have their natural pair of glove caluses that get them through, and their shoulders, like linebackers hold unfathomable strength.
The afternoon came quick, and as I walked through the camp, it was fascinating to see families prepare for dinner. At the grainery, a line gathered where mothers, young boys and girls mosty stood with woven baskets containing small rations of food gathered, farmed and traded. Each basket contained the essentials with slight variations- Cassava and millet, which could be stretched to feed many dependents. The grainery was really a small shop with a sign that read "cheap store" on the outer door. Inside was a machine run by a monster of a fuel dripping generator. Two boys, in their teens were running the shop. The cost to grind these basket loads into fine powder for cooking was 250 shillings, equivalent to about 15 cents. Some people would come up with only 200 shillings, the boys would attempt to stick to the price, but would never turn anyone away. They never turned anyone away- women and children mostly, standing in line, with their daily collections on their heads, generally a baby tied to the back. I got to hold a two week old baby- didn't like me much. cried until his mother offered him milk. At the end of the day Saturday, I played a game of soccer (football). A huge football field lies in the middle of the camp, which surrounds it on all sides. Next to the field is the market, where balls occassionally get kicked giving the marketeers something interesting to watch for. The market is small, with colorful piles of whatever vegetable is available at the time, and some dried fish. Not very appetizing. Next to the market is
the butcher. Literally, a man that sits next to a tree, cuts open a goat, hangs it dripping from the tree until people want a hunk. His credibility as the town butcher is given by his scale, an old, blood stained rusted
scale that measures accurate rations of intestine.
The soccer ball never reaches the outdoor butchery, because in front of him is a small area where a dozen children, always sit, sporadically placed on the ground, roasting groundnuts under small piles of their own shells. A dozen mounds of embers glow from these roasting sites. And when the ball is kicked in their direction, the kids eagerly await the chance to kick it back and try out their skills in front of the older kids. Only the best kids get to play soccer on this field, reserved for the most fit in the camp. They were reluctant to let me play, as I did not qualify by their standards, but with the Acholi attitude of complete hospitality they humored me, and tried their best not to let me hear them laugh every time I missed the ball. I have never seen such skill, such vigor and offensive manuevering. It is not beautiful to witness. It is rough and rigorous and by the end of the first half, I was beat from just trying to keep up. I headed a couple balls, which I was proud of, but that doesn't merit much. Halfway through, Walter stood on the sidelines, waving me like a grandfather would to his grandson. It was time to go home. And although I made a fuss, I was secretly relieved to get out of the game without being in the center of the firecracker action that every thirty seconds hovered around the goal posts. It was time to go. I was grateful to Walter for allowing me to be there for the weekend. As fun as this day seemed, the 24 hour novelty must pale after nearly 10 years of living this way. The Acholi people, always adaptable, always hospitable, deserve better.
We were woken up at sunrise to "go to the garden for digging"...A five kilometer path led us to the "garden" where my friend Opio Walter's grandfather's plot of land was. Digging meant using a ho, to dig up the bushy land and turn it into more manageable soil. Ambitiously, I started out with vigor, only to find caluses popping on my hands by an hour's worth of work. After 3 hours, Walter lied and told us it was midday, time to head back. It was really only 10:30 but the sun was hot, and under the heat, he could tell we were naive to how unprepared we were for the day. I asked him to let me stay, but he insisted I could come back another time, that I had done enough for the day. Sure enough, after another 5 km walk back to the camp, as soon as I sat down, I realized that my shoulders seemed to be forcing themselves out of my skin, they pounded like laden dinosaur bones where my usual shoulders had been. Spent the rest of the day in Walter's hut, resting like a typical Mzungu, as women twice my age worked all day long. If only I had a pair of gloves- but the women have their natural pair of glove caluses that get them through, and their shoulders, like linebackers hold unfathomable strength.
The afternoon came quick, and as I walked through the camp, it was fascinating to see families prepare for dinner. At the grainery, a line gathered where mothers, young boys and girls mosty stood with woven baskets containing small rations of food gathered, farmed and traded. Each basket contained the essentials with slight variations- Cassava and millet, which could be stretched to feed many dependents. The grainery was really a small shop with a sign that read "cheap store" on the outer door. Inside was a machine run by a monster of a fuel dripping generator. Two boys, in their teens were running the shop. The cost to grind these basket loads into fine powder for cooking was 250 shillings, equivalent to about 15 cents. Some people would come up with only 200 shillings, the boys would attempt to stick to the price, but would never turn anyone away. They never turned anyone away- women and children mostly, standing in line, with their daily collections on their heads, generally a baby tied to the back. I got to hold a two week old baby- didn't like me much. cried until his mother offered him milk. At the end of the day Saturday, I played a game of soccer (football). A huge football field lies in the middle of the camp, which surrounds it on all sides. Next to the field is the market, where balls occassionally get kicked giving the marketeers something interesting to watch for. The market is small, with colorful piles of whatever vegetable is available at the time, and some dried fish. Not very appetizing. Next to the market is
the butcher. Literally, a man that sits next to a tree, cuts open a goat, hangs it dripping from the tree until people want a hunk. His credibility as the town butcher is given by his scale, an old, blood stained rusted
scale that measures accurate rations of intestine.
The soccer ball never reaches the outdoor butchery, because in front of him is a small area where a dozen children, always sit, sporadically placed on the ground, roasting groundnuts under small piles of their own shells. A dozen mounds of embers glow from these roasting sites. And when the ball is kicked in their direction, the kids eagerly await the chance to kick it back and try out their skills in front of the older kids. Only the best kids get to play soccer on this field, reserved for the most fit in the camp. They were reluctant to let me play, as I did not qualify by their standards, but with the Acholi attitude of complete hospitality they humored me, and tried their best not to let me hear them laugh every time I missed the ball. I have never seen such skill, such vigor and offensive manuevering. It is not beautiful to witness. It is rough and rigorous and by the end of the first half, I was beat from just trying to keep up. I headed a couple balls, which I was proud of, but that doesn't merit much. Halfway through, Walter stood on the sidelines, waving me like a grandfather would to his grandson. It was time to go home. And although I made a fuss, I was secretly relieved to get out of the game without being in the center of the firecracker action that every thirty seconds hovered around the goal posts. It was time to go. I was grateful to Walter for allowing me to be there for the weekend. As fun as this day seemed, the 24 hour novelty must pale after nearly 10 years of living this way. The Acholi people, always adaptable, always hospitable, deserve better.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
10 April 2008
I wrote this entry on the day that could have marked a historical day in Uganda, giving peace to millions of Acholi people in the North. Two years of peace talks between the LRA rebel army and the Ugandan government came to this day: 10 April 2008, the day that Joseph Kony, leader of the LRA had agreed to sign a final peace agreement, in the middle of the jungle where he and thousands of abducted children were living in the Congo. With the scratch of a pen, millions of mothers, could ease up on the grip of their children and sleep with both eyes resting. The fathers could begin the first walk back to their farms overgrown, and make the first slice into a ground, where sustainable life for his family could be cultivated. It was a long day in Acholi-land, full of unrest, causing locals to courageously dig up these old dreams and visions of a peaceful future, buried under the same jungle of chaos that has overtaken their farmland. I tried my best to understand, observe and write what this day was like.
10 April, 2008
Like ocean against sky, the mood of Gulu seems to mirror the atmosphere that hovers above it. Dark clouds, ominous and foretelling hardly allow the pink streaks of sunrise to shine through. Illuminating against the storm of 22 years of terror, a small daub of hope is all that remains on the Acholi’s palette for this day. With timid anticipation, the Acholi rise, again for their 8,030th day of war.
An older woman in her 60s, walks towards town, hunched over, by the weight of a heavy bag carried from her neck. Asked about the day, she strains to lift her tired head. Through deep wrinkles, her eyes stand out in brilliant, youthful excitement. “This day is historic for Acholi Land” she replies with glitter swimming in her eyes. “It is time. Time to go back to our Land, resume our life and farm again” she says as her eyes sink into the back of her head. Wading beyond the current tide of misery, her eyes were backstroking past thrashing breakers to reach the predictable, calm surges that lay in the distant, deep waters of her memory.
To younger Acholi's, devoid of any memory of tranquility, this reaction is far less genuine. Lukewarm anticipation mixed realistically with doubt are natural reactions, caused by three previous peace talk flops. If dawn was the hope, vulnerable and fragile, the heat of midday is the harshness of reality. Skepticism set in as colors disappear and flatten the tone of this raw town.
Afternoon sun beats down, to intensify the anticipation. Hovering around the largest radio station in the North, locals wait in almost nonchalant expectation, as if to not be caught with their hope exposed, should today's news slash it to unrepairable pieces. Upstairs, the radio DJ sits in the news studio overlooking the people on main street. In reverence to the situation, he is silent. With one phone call, he will have a heavy responsibility. With the microphone before him, he will bring either limitless joy or painstaking grief to a fragile audience. Different from the typical final score announcements of a sports game, this outcome holds the weight of millions of people in limbo. The fate of 40 IDP camps sit waiting, straining to hear the news.
Silence is broken. The News Correspondent slumps in his chair. The angst pours down the windows of his building as rain has paradoxically began to fall. “Joseph Kony is not serious” he says in a defeated whisper. The radio clicks on across thousands of rusty radios throughout Acholi Land. Joseph Kony has delayed the peace talks to a halt. The sky, once broad with morning possibilities, now lowers itself overhead, dumping reality on withered spirits. The same heads that stood fearless against the dawn’s early light now bow in defeat to a pelting rain. Sauntering home in descending dusk, the world is still, hanging for but a very real moment. And in that moment, a realization that life must go on as it always does. The people push ahead with the day given to them. Steam swims through the night sky, a faint indication of the life that continues from the thousands of dinners cooking on open fire below. The people will rest and rise again. Tomorrow, on day 8031, they will once again find the raw courage to streak the morning sky with their bold belief in peace.
Please Pray for Peace.
10 April, 2008
Like ocean against sky, the mood of Gulu seems to mirror the atmosphere that hovers above it. Dark clouds, ominous and foretelling hardly allow the pink streaks of sunrise to shine through. Illuminating against the storm of 22 years of terror, a small daub of hope is all that remains on the Acholi’s palette for this day. With timid anticipation, the Acholi rise, again for their 8,030th day of war.
An older woman in her 60s, walks towards town, hunched over, by the weight of a heavy bag carried from her neck. Asked about the day, she strains to lift her tired head. Through deep wrinkles, her eyes stand out in brilliant, youthful excitement. “This day is historic for Acholi Land” she replies with glitter swimming in her eyes. “It is time. Time to go back to our Land, resume our life and farm again” she says as her eyes sink into the back of her head. Wading beyond the current tide of misery, her eyes were backstroking past thrashing breakers to reach the predictable, calm surges that lay in the distant, deep waters of her memory.
To younger Acholi's, devoid of any memory of tranquility, this reaction is far less genuine. Lukewarm anticipation mixed realistically with doubt are natural reactions, caused by three previous peace talk flops. If dawn was the hope, vulnerable and fragile, the heat of midday is the harshness of reality. Skepticism set in as colors disappear and flatten the tone of this raw town.
Afternoon sun beats down, to intensify the anticipation. Hovering around the largest radio station in the North, locals wait in almost nonchalant expectation, as if to not be caught with their hope exposed, should today's news slash it to unrepairable pieces. Upstairs, the radio DJ sits in the news studio overlooking the people on main street. In reverence to the situation, he is silent. With one phone call, he will have a heavy responsibility. With the microphone before him, he will bring either limitless joy or painstaking grief to a fragile audience. Different from the typical final score announcements of a sports game, this outcome holds the weight of millions of people in limbo. The fate of 40 IDP camps sit waiting, straining to hear the news.
Silence is broken. The News Correspondent slumps in his chair. The angst pours down the windows of his building as rain has paradoxically began to fall. “Joseph Kony is not serious” he says in a defeated whisper. The radio clicks on across thousands of rusty radios throughout Acholi Land. Joseph Kony has delayed the peace talks to a halt. The sky, once broad with morning possibilities, now lowers itself overhead, dumping reality on withered spirits. The same heads that stood fearless against the dawn’s early light now bow in defeat to a pelting rain. Sauntering home in descending dusk, the world is still, hanging for but a very real moment. And in that moment, a realization that life must go on as it always does. The people push ahead with the day given to them. Steam swims through the night sky, a faint indication of the life that continues from the thousands of dinners cooking on open fire below. The people will rest and rise again. Tomorrow, on day 8031, they will once again find the raw courage to streak the morning sky with their bold belief in peace.
Please Pray for Peace.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Amazing Grace: In conclusion to the last entry
Today, I rode a motorbike to one of Invisible Children's sponsored schools. In the usual heat, my tires whipped through layers of chalky, dusty road. Suddenly, it began to rain. Out of no where. It poured all over the road, soaking through inches of dust, filling deep cracks of dry Earth. Dripping wet, I screamed as loud as I could. Dry season is ending. And perhaps with these refreshing drops, like a prophetic que, peace for Acholi Land. The paper today read "Peace Talks in Final Stages". This Spring could hold more than budding flowers and greenery. It may bring renewed energy and vitality to a land dormant and damaged. Hidden in this newly formed weather, peace may be gathering on the horizon, ready to run alongside the pace of the chariots of clouds.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Budding Peace
Dry season has consumed Gulu. This month has become a test of endurance against the sun, which rises with such innocence in gentle streaks of pink, hiding its true nature as a hellish beast. In America, and especially in the paradise of California, four seasons rotate like a pinwheel, balanced, each one with its own quality to look forward to. Ugandans have two seasons that flop like a fish out of water. When the dry season flips over in January, no Ugandan would admit to looking forward to the next few months ahead. In fact, most locals shudder at the switch in wind patterns, which begin to blow from Sudan, sweeping with it the death and destruction from that place.
The first day the winds turned, our friend, Akidi looked out her window and said, “disease has entered our land”. Trees bow to the ominous message of these winds, and shed their fear to bare limbs. Lush green is blanketed in brown dust, which transforms the environment to a bland palette. Last year’s vibrant harvests are burnt, and throughout the night, fires roar everywhere, as black ash falls from the sky. It is interesting to really feel the underside of vibrancy, which I feel is well controlled in America. We are lucky to not have to see or deal with these kinds of ugly realities. The ying to the yang. It has been difficult living in the midst of it, realizing just how much it has affected everyone’s moods. So many people are becoming sick, and older people are dying during this season. Last week, Okello, my best friend who I wrote about, the one who constructed the café, came to my house early in the morning. One of his last remaining relatives had died unexpectedly. He was in tears, rare to see on a grown Acholi man. I have always seen him as a man, but it was in this morning, with the sun’s budding light, that I saw a different side of him- the boy that he really was. He had no money for a coffin, and being the closest relative in a family that is practically extinct, he was expected to give him a burial. I gave him the money for the coffin, something I have never paid for. He borrowed my camera and took these pictures. I thought I would share a couple of them candidly taken by Okello. I know this is not the most heartwarming of updates. But, it is the reality of the season, and I think it has been beneficial for me to understand this other side to life that I am truly unfamiliar with. If anything it magnifies the beauty of the newly budding trees. And glorifies the cycle of life that is bringing new promises of peace to this land. In a figurative sense, a new season may be emerging with the literal first forming rain cloud of wet season. Peace for the Northerners, in the form of a permanent peace agreement, between the LRA and the government is budding, and looks closest to blooming since 1986. I hope and ask you all to pray for peace, so that the figurative and literal can collide together; that the March rains will carry with it a new era of peace, to refresh this exhausted land.
The first day the winds turned, our friend, Akidi looked out her window and said, “disease has entered our land”. Trees bow to the ominous message of these winds, and shed their fear to bare limbs. Lush green is blanketed in brown dust, which transforms the environment to a bland palette. Last year’s vibrant harvests are burnt, and throughout the night, fires roar everywhere, as black ash falls from the sky. It is interesting to really feel the underside of vibrancy, which I feel is well controlled in America. We are lucky to not have to see or deal with these kinds of ugly realities. The ying to the yang. It has been difficult living in the midst of it, realizing just how much it has affected everyone’s moods. So many people are becoming sick, and older people are dying during this season. Last week, Okello, my best friend who I wrote about, the one who constructed the café, came to my house early in the morning. One of his last remaining relatives had died unexpectedly. He was in tears, rare to see on a grown Acholi man. I have always seen him as a man, but it was in this morning, with the sun’s budding light, that I saw a different side of him- the boy that he really was. He had no money for a coffin, and being the closest relative in a family that is practically extinct, he was expected to give him a burial. I gave him the money for the coffin, something I have never paid for. He borrowed my camera and took these pictures. I thought I would share a couple of them candidly taken by Okello. I know this is not the most heartwarming of updates. But, it is the reality of the season, and I think it has been beneficial for me to understand this other side to life that I am truly unfamiliar with. If anything it magnifies the beauty of the newly budding trees. And glorifies the cycle of life that is bringing new promises of peace to this land. In a figurative sense, a new season may be emerging with the literal first forming rain cloud of wet season. Peace for the Northerners, in the form of a permanent peace agreement, between the LRA and the government is budding, and looks closest to blooming since 1986. I hope and ask you all to pray for peace, so that the figurative and literal can collide together; that the March rains will carry with it a new era of peace, to refresh this exhausted land.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Serving the World
I want to thank all of you- over 40 different people and families - who contributed so generously toward Kope Café. This project, more of an experiment as the first non-profit café of its kind, has been successful because, from day one, it started with selflessness. From Acholi artists who sacrificed countless hours of decorating, to the manager, Judith, who left London to work for free, laughing throughout the crazy opening months. The cafe is a work of love, and you all have continued this spirit of generosity.
Returning to Uganda and Kope Café was bittersweet. It is surreal being back in Gulu, where nothing has changed. The same people are posted on the same corners, the same women carry the same jugs of water from the well, the same little kids smile and wave on the sides of the dusty road. The scene is not nearly as lively or relaxing as the comforts of home this Christmas break. In fact, it is a bit difficult to adjust back, but I know that I am in the right place. After all, this is the place that has challenged me and stretched me creatively and personally beyond what I thought capable; I could not be here, or have the strength without the support of each of you. Nelson Mandela said, “"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world.” You have all played huge in my world, and now it is my turn to extend that generosity. Thank you for your support.
Hosting a meeting the second day I arrived back in Uganda, I sat inside Kope Café, now 3 months old, and looked around the room of bright characters. My heart quivered just knowing the effort they have each made to enable the café to function smoothly. My appreciation turned to invigoration as I announced that we now have the funds from my friends in America to fulfill many of their requests for improvement. There is a lot of work that needs to be done to make this café fully sustainable, well-attended and consistent. Construction on an outside patio starts today, and my hope is that within a couple of weeks we will double our seating capacity. The kitchen will receive proper attention, and the Chef will no longer have to bend down to cut fruit salads on a bench borrowed from HEALS.
In my dreams of September, I eat one last serving of chicken curry, wash my plate, and walk out the front door of a thriving café. My exit takes me through a lush outdoor patio from where I look back at the sign one last time, knowing that the cafe is serving its role as a community hub of creativity and culture. Turning down the street to head home I meet several kids from HEALS and take comfort in knowing that this community-run organization will never have to worry about finding 3 dollars to send a child to elementary school. And, as I return home to you all, the stories of success I bring will confirm that you were a part of this dream and that together, we truly served the world.
Returning to Uganda and Kope Café was bittersweet. It is surreal being back in Gulu, where nothing has changed. The same people are posted on the same corners, the same women carry the same jugs of water from the well, the same little kids smile and wave on the sides of the dusty road. The scene is not nearly as lively or relaxing as the comforts of home this Christmas break. In fact, it is a bit difficult to adjust back, but I know that I am in the right place. After all, this is the place that has challenged me and stretched me creatively and personally beyond what I thought capable; I could not be here, or have the strength without the support of each of you. Nelson Mandela said, “"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world.” You have all played huge in my world, and now it is my turn to extend that generosity. Thank you for your support.
Hosting a meeting the second day I arrived back in Uganda, I sat inside Kope Café, now 3 months old, and looked around the room of bright characters. My heart quivered just knowing the effort they have each made to enable the café to function smoothly. My appreciation turned to invigoration as I announced that we now have the funds from my friends in America to fulfill many of their requests for improvement. There is a lot of work that needs to be done to make this café fully sustainable, well-attended and consistent. Construction on an outside patio starts today, and my hope is that within a couple of weeks we will double our seating capacity. The kitchen will receive proper attention, and the Chef will no longer have to bend down to cut fruit salads on a bench borrowed from HEALS.
In my dreams of September, I eat one last serving of chicken curry, wash my plate, and walk out the front door of a thriving café. My exit takes me through a lush outdoor patio from where I look back at the sign one last time, knowing that the cafe is serving its role as a community hub of creativity and culture. Turning down the street to head home I meet several kids from HEALS and take comfort in knowing that this community-run organization will never have to worry about finding 3 dollars to send a child to elementary school. And, as I return home to you all, the stories of success I bring will confirm that you were a part of this dream and that together, we truly served the world.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Kope Cafe: day 2
I am elated. Sitting on a comfortable couch, listening to an old remix of Duran Duran in Kope Café brings about the most foreign feeling, while simultaneously, I feel closer to home than I ever have. I just got up off this comfortable couch, and after looking around at Ugandan Med School grads dining under reservation in a gleaming, lamp-lit room, I walk outside to ride my bike to the market. Riding away from the café, reality sets in outside of the picturesque “Disney-like” setting as it’s been described. Elderly women walk home with belongings on their heads, military men march past, toting AK-47s, smells of burning trash waft through sticky air. Kope Café which sits in the middle of downtown Gulu, is unlike any place around here. Cruising down the street, my sandals grazing the top of the pavement, I smile in gratitude at God’s blessing bestowed upon this café. My eyes well, close to crying by the beauty of this moment. A pinnacle peak of joy, and of awe. It has not been easy. It is amazing that on the second day of being open, I feel light-hearted enough to laugh at the last two and a half months. The challenges faced make this night even sweeter. Looking back on the restless nights in bed, when I could only pray to trust that this mess of a café, covered in cement, tree parts and dust would become a place to gather; Even this last week, hurried and chaotic, dipping into my personal finances to fund pots and pans, and stoves, I was a mess of excited and nervous energy. But if there’s one thing that naming a café Kope, (meaning “no worries”) in a town like Gulu, teaches me, it’s to slow down, and realize that operating in lightness is far more effective than running around in panic mode. As I pedal back towards the café, my thoughts dissipate upon seeing the café through the windows. In soft light, the glow of the café looks marvelous. A couple are snuggling on the couch. Another is eating face to face at a small table. Two people are sitting up in the tree house, amongst pillows they are laughing. And the recent graduates are enjoying liver- their request. The chef we hired has turned out to be fantastic. He makes exceptional dishes, fresh and innovative. I feel like he has been waiting his whole life for the opportunity to show off his true skills. And he loves the fact that we have given him full artistic freedom to make whatever he wants. So far, it has all had rave reviews. Steak salads, with his housemade Dijon vinagerette, vegetable curry with Thai noodles that I have not tasted since Thailand. I was in disbelief as I ran back to thank him, into the makeshift kitchen, with a gas stove top I bought for 50 bucks in Kampala, two “traditional” stoves made of car hubcaps, and a refrigerator we borrowed from Jolly’s sister. Amazing. I have no idea how he produces these dishes. I am seriously in disbelief anytime Linda brings something from the kitchen. I really don’t get it, but don’t want to get it. It adds to the mystique of how this place came to be. I feel like I should know best and yet, when my friends from Invisible Children how it came together, astonished that this dream of Jolly’s which has been planned for over a year, is finally realized, I have no clear concept of its development. I have God to thank and a number of incredible Acholi friends.
In two days, the place has transformed from being the bane of my lonely existence to a comfortable, relaxing and exciting place that brings together artists and great people to enjoy a space completely unique to Northern Uganda. Plus, I am lucky, so gratefully lucky to be working with my friends. Linda, who has become a great friend and who worked so hard, for free, painting and cleaning the café months before it opened, and Patrick, who donated over 35 hours painting the entire place with beautiful designs and murals. Plus Davis, who is going to start playing the keyboard on Saturday evenings. And we are in the process of booking a blind violinist for Sundays.
Sunday night is coming to a close. My friends from Invisible Children have just left. They had been in the café nearly all weekend. Confirming this place’s worth, they spent nearly the whole day here, some enjoying breakfast through dinner. We really had no place to hang out, beyond work and our home. So, we’ve kind of just transferred our usual conversations and atmosphere to the comfy living room style of the cafe. And our new hang out is far more beneficial for Gulu’s kids- with purchases going to fund the HEALS program for Acholi youth. I have already sung the Cheers theme song, which just enters my mind at this situation, where I no longer have to go and visit friends. They just appear through the double doors. My Mom last week sent money specifically instructed to spend on myself and something I would enjoy. Grateful, I used the money to buy speakers for the café. Not only does it make the place complete, but I am able to hook up my IPOD to the speakers and broadcast all of my favorite music beyond the confinement of my ears. Ugandans and Mzoongus alike have already brought in their favorite music by CD or MP3 player. It’s great to get a mix of music, as we’ll play anything- always announcing who’s music selection we are enjoying.
So, I am so grateful, in this completely honeymoon state- floating in the enjoyable and graceful pace of this café. I am in awe and complete gratitude for all those who helped bring this together. Jolly’s sister, Judith, who just returned from the UK, has played a big part in answering my prayers for help. She has taken over as manager/accountant and I could not be more grateful for this complete Godsend. Other than that, tomorrow is another day. We open at 8 am for coffee and tea. Then I start work at Invisible Children at 9am. I’ll plan to check up on the café around 11 am or so, through lunch and then back to the office until 5. I’ll try to do some exercise before making it over to help close the café by 8 pm or so. Busy but throughout this enormous process, I have been fueled by this inner drive to push on. And thankfully, now that our furniture has cushions, and my former paint storage room produces Thai vegetable curry, the job has become a lot more “Kope”.
In two days, the place has transformed from being the bane of my lonely existence to a comfortable, relaxing and exciting place that brings together artists and great people to enjoy a space completely unique to Northern Uganda. Plus, I am lucky, so gratefully lucky to be working with my friends. Linda, who has become a great friend and who worked so hard, for free, painting and cleaning the café months before it opened, and Patrick, who donated over 35 hours painting the entire place with beautiful designs and murals. Plus Davis, who is going to start playing the keyboard on Saturday evenings. And we are in the process of booking a blind violinist for Sundays.
Sunday night is coming to a close. My friends from Invisible Children have just left. They had been in the café nearly all weekend. Confirming this place’s worth, they spent nearly the whole day here, some enjoying breakfast through dinner. We really had no place to hang out, beyond work and our home. So, we’ve kind of just transferred our usual conversations and atmosphere to the comfy living room style of the cafe. And our new hang out is far more beneficial for Gulu’s kids- with purchases going to fund the HEALS program for Acholi youth. I have already sung the Cheers theme song, which just enters my mind at this situation, where I no longer have to go and visit friends. They just appear through the double doors. My Mom last week sent money specifically instructed to spend on myself and something I would enjoy. Grateful, I used the money to buy speakers for the café. Not only does it make the place complete, but I am able to hook up my IPOD to the speakers and broadcast all of my favorite music beyond the confinement of my ears. Ugandans and Mzoongus alike have already brought in their favorite music by CD or MP3 player. It’s great to get a mix of music, as we’ll play anything- always announcing who’s music selection we are enjoying.
So, I am so grateful, in this completely honeymoon state- floating in the enjoyable and graceful pace of this café. I am in awe and complete gratitude for all those who helped bring this together. Jolly’s sister, Judith, who just returned from the UK, has played a big part in answering my prayers for help. She has taken over as manager/accountant and I could not be more grateful for this complete Godsend. Other than that, tomorrow is another day. We open at 8 am for coffee and tea. Then I start work at Invisible Children at 9am. I’ll plan to check up on the café around 11 am or so, through lunch and then back to the office until 5. I’ll try to do some exercise before making it over to help close the café by 8 pm or so. Busy but throughout this enormous process, I have been fueled by this inner drive to push on. And thankfully, now that our furniture has cushions, and my former paint storage room produces Thai vegetable curry, the job has become a lot more “Kope”.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Kope Cafe: Open for Business
Kope Cafe was officially open for business as of Saturday, 17 November, 2007. 11/17/07- has a good ring to it, I think. We opened with the usual fanfare- sparks flew from the waffle machine that lit on fire...we decided to go with fruit pancakes. Otherwise it was a surprisingly smooth day. People loved the food and atmosphere, including myself. We opened from 8 am until about 8 pm. Tonight we are serving a party of recently graduated doctors-the place is picking up steam and exciting. More to come...
Saturday, November 10, 2007
KOPE CAFE: GRAND OPENING!
The day arrived...and it felt like last minute preparations for a wedding- or at least the weddings you see in movies. Jolly (the Country Director of Invisible Children and HEALS) summoned all of her family members and HEALS kids to help out. Walking around the rooms, kids were scrubbing tile, watering the indoor grass, moving around heavy bags of coffee, arranging and reearranging the wooden couches and log tables around the room. At one point, I led a parade of pillows, just made from the friendly market women through town, with 8 people each carrying a couple to the cafe. They were going up in the "tree balcony". Meanwhile, the carpenters turned electricians were up in the ceiling installing the lamps which I had just haggled for in the Kampala markets. As I would walk outside, barefoot so as not to ruin the floors, I would be showered with concrete being chiseled out of the front wall to install the sign- metal letters spelling out Kope Cafe, which the local tinsmith had cut out by hand from a computer print-out of the logo. Installing them was Okello who I have come to realize is not exactly a perfectionist. Occasionally friends passing would offer him suggestions for how to adjust the letters to make them look somewhat straight. Patrick, the artist was making final adjustments to the mural, and I was hammering bark onto a hand painted sign for the art exhibition. Meanwhile, the HEALS director was busy mounting the photographs, and the photo students were admiring their works being hung.
At one pm, Jolly hauled all the remaining trash away, the HEALS dancers changed into traditional Acholi dress, and we were ready for the grand opening of Kope Cafe. It was a beautiful afternoon, displaying the vitality of the HEALS Organization through the vibrant talents of its kids. The dancers, with plumes of ostrich feathers attached to their heads made the strong entrance, uniting the cafe with its purpose, and the two elements- the HEALS children, and the cafe, looked beautiful together. While I watched their dance performance, drums and calabashes beating the rhythm of the ancient songs, as the bells attached to the kids' feet hit in perfect unison, it became just that. The perfect union, coming finally full circle. A venue space echoing sounds of local music and art, of creative thought and limitless expression. And in a place that equally reflected art, beauty and a love for its beneficiaries. It was in that moment that it all came together for me. And it was a beautiful, striking moment.
The photography exhibit was equally impressive, with HEALS' photos students showcasing their best works- each unique and powerfully connected to one of the stanzas from Ecclesiastes 3, which was the theme of the exhibit-"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens". With each phrase, the student explained their perspective in writing, included in the program, and it became so real, as soon as the connection was made between the powerful photo, taken through the honesty of the child's perspective, and the reality of their lives which go beyond the simple glance. It was incredible to understand the creativity and ability to analyze and explain their lives-filled with many emotions I never understood or had to deal with as a kid. Through this means of expression, it became completely candid, raw and engaging. Each of the young photographers were there, proudly explaining their works, and a few Mothers and Fathers also came. One mother upon seeing a photo of herself, gasped in excitement, hugging her son, whose eyes said it all- he was so proud, and she of him. A girl from the Nationwide newspaper, The Monitor attended the exhibition and will speak to the kids today, attempting to give a few of the older ones a chance to get into photojournalism.
It was a day to remember. And now the real work begins, as we will officially open for business next weekend, after training the staff and finalizing our menu. Oh, and hiring the chef. Oh, and buying a stove. Oh, and fixing the front sign, Oh, and... Anyhow, thank you for your continued thoughts and prayers. They are working through this project and continue to move it forward in beautiful and unexpected ways.
On a personal note- may God bless the Riley family during this time. Know that his energy and enthusiasm, contagious, has given me strength in my creativity here. I'm sure this can be said by so many. May he always be remembered for his incredible courage and love for others.
At one pm, Jolly hauled all the remaining trash away, the HEALS dancers changed into traditional Acholi dress, and we were ready for the grand opening of Kope Cafe. It was a beautiful afternoon, displaying the vitality of the HEALS Organization through the vibrant talents of its kids. The dancers, with plumes of ostrich feathers attached to their heads made the strong entrance, uniting the cafe with its purpose, and the two elements- the HEALS children, and the cafe, looked beautiful together. While I watched their dance performance, drums and calabashes beating the rhythm of the ancient songs, as the bells attached to the kids' feet hit in perfect unison, it became just that. The perfect union, coming finally full circle. A venue space echoing sounds of local music and art, of creative thought and limitless expression. And in a place that equally reflected art, beauty and a love for its beneficiaries. It was in that moment that it all came together for me. And it was a beautiful, striking moment.
The photography exhibit was equally impressive, with HEALS' photos students showcasing their best works- each unique and powerfully connected to one of the stanzas from Ecclesiastes 3, which was the theme of the exhibit-"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens". With each phrase, the student explained their perspective in writing, included in the program, and it became so real, as soon as the connection was made between the powerful photo, taken through the honesty of the child's perspective, and the reality of their lives which go beyond the simple glance. It was incredible to understand the creativity and ability to analyze and explain their lives-filled with many emotions I never understood or had to deal with as a kid. Through this means of expression, it became completely candid, raw and engaging. Each of the young photographers were there, proudly explaining their works, and a few Mothers and Fathers also came. One mother upon seeing a photo of herself, gasped in excitement, hugging her son, whose eyes said it all- he was so proud, and she of him. A girl from the Nationwide newspaper, The Monitor attended the exhibition and will speak to the kids today, attempting to give a few of the older ones a chance to get into photojournalism.
It was a day to remember. And now the real work begins, as we will officially open for business next weekend, after training the staff and finalizing our menu. Oh, and hiring the chef. Oh, and buying a stove. Oh, and fixing the front sign, Oh, and... Anyhow, thank you for your continued thoughts and prayers. They are working through this project and continue to move it forward in beautiful and unexpected ways.
On a personal note- may God bless the Riley family during this time. Know that his energy and enthusiasm, contagious, has given me strength in my creativity here. I'm sure this can be said by so many. May he always be remembered for his incredible courage and love for others.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Kope Cafe #3
We have officially one week before Kope Cafe is scheduled to open. For the last two and a half months, I have been joking around that Kope Cafe will be ready for CHOGM. CHOGM, standing for Commonwealth Heads Of Government Meeting is a week-long meeting of all Country leaders belonging to the British Commonwealth. Kampala was given the honor of hosting this annual event, in which the Royal British family will be attending, justifying spending millions of dollars renovating the city, installing stop lights, and trying to decieve the World into thinking they (Ugandan gov't) have their act together. Unbeknownst to the 500 heads of State that will be staying in brand new hotels, driving in the 400 BMWs bought for shuttling them around for a week, in pleasant traffic, because most major streets will be blocked off to the public, the Country's people are silently suffering for it. This is most represented in the North, where people have been hearing stories of the millions of dollars spent on preparing for CHOGM- obvious in a trip to Kampala where nearly every billboard states: "For one week, the world's eyes will be on us...Will you be ready for CHOGM?" We thought it would be great to blow up a photo of thousands of starving people in the IDP camps in the North, holding up a sign saying, "We're ready for CHOGM". Definitely would magnify the complete ignorance and neglect of the government in helping the North- bet you can guess where the President/Dictator is from? In any case, telling people in Gulu that Kope Cafe will be ready for CHOGM gets huge laughs around town. Besides it being irrelevant, I really never thought we would be ready for CHOGM, which kicks off this next week. But, thanks to the carpenters and recently two fantastic artists, we will be READY FOR CHOGM! Let the Queen have her tea time in the tree house! I'll get the ladder in order, unless she requires an elevator. We may need to make a few certain adjustments, at the expense of the HEALS program to facilitate her stay, but rest assured, if she needs a helicopter landing pad, I am willing to raze the neighbors apartments behind me. Whatever it takes.
Now, back to reality...A friend of mine who works at the t-shirt design and screenprinting shop stopped by Kope last week. As he walked in, he just looked around, silently, with this huge grin on his face. He finally said that it was the place he had been waiting for in Gulu. A place for artists to come together. I was stunned that he felt that way- that was my complete intention with the place, and already he could tell, without the walls covered in local artwork. On the spot, he offered to contribute 10 hours of free work. His commitment shown through this week, as his friend, both art grads from the best University in the country, have spent over 20 hours painting this incredible mural across the rooms. Sticking with the theme of trees, their work has been incredible, and has continued to excite me for the promise of this place.
We are opening with a Photography Exhibition which will feature photos taken by the young students at HEALS. The photos will follow the theme from Ecclesiastes, and will be entitled, "A Time for Peace". Tiffany, a fellow co-worker at Invisible Children, is helping host it. She conducts the weekly photography program, called "Listen To My Pictures: Gulu". The photos will be matted, each taking a different phrase of the passage. The child who took the photo corresponding to the phrase also wrote about what the phrase means in relation to the photo. The pictures taken are compelling, and tell really personal stories in the perspective of these kids' lives. Photos that no visitor could take here. I am excited about this grand opening, which will be complete with a performance by the HEALS Cultural All-Star Dancers! Now all we have to do, short list- is construct a sign, buy plants, finish painting the mural, buy fans, procure the coffee from our suppliers, get an oven and hire for all positions. What a week ahead! But at this point, I am riding on the momentum supplied by the Acholi artists and carpenters around me, who are enthusiastic for the big day. CHOGM 2007!
Now, back to reality...A friend of mine who works at the t-shirt design and screenprinting shop stopped by Kope last week. As he walked in, he just looked around, silently, with this huge grin on his face. He finally said that it was the place he had been waiting for in Gulu. A place for artists to come together. I was stunned that he felt that way- that was my complete intention with the place, and already he could tell, without the walls covered in local artwork. On the spot, he offered to contribute 10 hours of free work. His commitment shown through this week, as his friend, both art grads from the best University in the country, have spent over 20 hours painting this incredible mural across the rooms. Sticking with the theme of trees, their work has been incredible, and has continued to excite me for the promise of this place.
We are opening with a Photography Exhibition which will feature photos taken by the young students at HEALS. The photos will follow the theme from Ecclesiastes, and will be entitled, "A Time for Peace". Tiffany, a fellow co-worker at Invisible Children, is helping host it. She conducts the weekly photography program, called "Listen To My Pictures: Gulu". The photos will be matted, each taking a different phrase of the passage. The child who took the photo corresponding to the phrase also wrote about what the phrase means in relation to the photo. The pictures taken are compelling, and tell really personal stories in the perspective of these kids' lives. Photos that no visitor could take here. I am excited about this grand opening, which will be complete with a performance by the HEALS Cultural All-Star Dancers! Now all we have to do, short list- is construct a sign, buy plants, finish painting the mural, buy fans, procure the coffee from our suppliers, get an oven and hire for all positions. What a week ahead! But at this point, I am riding on the momentum supplied by the Acholi artists and carpenters around me, who are enthusiastic for the big day. CHOGM 2007!
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Kope Cafe #2
A month has gone by in what has been a hectic, complicated period of extreme growth. I’ve relied on strength from above to continue the progress of Kope Café. Nothing goes as planned, nothing happens on time, things fall apart, get stolen, lost, damaged, with dozens of people to manage in constant chaos. Therefore, I will tell the story of Kope Café not through my exhausted brain, but in a much more fresh perspective. I will tell the progress of Kope through a friend named Okello. I met Okello when I first arrived to Gulu. He and his friend had invited me to visit their high school and to check out their artwork. At nineteen years old, Okello is serious, a demeanor that always seemed to have matured unnaturally fast. On the rare occasion that Okello cracked a smile, though, the whole World seemed to lighten up. After touring the school, I didn’t see Okello for months.
During the first week of renovating what is to become Kope Café, Okello walked in. I was measuring the are for which Franco and Jimmy, the eccentric designing duo, would break through the floor to install a tree in the middle of the café, serving as the base for a balcony. Over a shrieking, sparking tile cutter, Okello asked if there was any work available. In an area like Gulu, where poverty is prevalent everywhere, this was quickly becoming a routine conversation during my day at the café. As sparks flew, not from contact with the tile, but from the electrical outlet, where these designers had frayed the ends of the power tool and stuffed the two shards of wire into the socket, I told Okello no. I didn’t have the time or patience to deal with another person working on the café. Jimmy and Franco were more than enough to deal with. A few days later, as we were cutting, by hand, a tree trunk 2 feet in diameter, Okello walked in again. In between breaks, not to rest, but to replace the rickety saw blade, which broke after 2 hours of cutting the base of the tree, Okello asked if I could give him some work. In between arguing with the designers over where the money I had given them to rent a power saw, I told Okello no. The following week, as we were lifting this massive tree trunk with fitted iron rods into the holes we had created in the floor of the café, Okello walked in. While realizing that the designers had incorrectly measured the holes, and we were going to have to again rent the power drill to fix their mistake, I told Okello that I had no work for him.
The following week, as Jimmy and I were meeting with an engineer to discuss the supplies purchased to cement the tree base into place, Okello walked in. Over a heated conversation, in realizing that Jimmy had bought all of the wrong supplies, I told Okello no. This time he did not leave. He sat in the shop. Confidently, sat in silence. After the conversation died down, and Jimmy left to go buy new supplies, he approached. He noticed that one of the tables we had had made were broken, and offered to fix it overnight. He was asking for 5,000 shillings, including supplies. Costs aside, this would give him $1.20 in labor to transport the table, and fix it entirely. Exasperated by his persistence, I had no reason not to comply with his request. He tied this enormous table to the back of his bike and rode off. The next day, he returned. The table was repaired, sanded and painted. It looked like new. That week, Jimmy stole items from the café. Realizing it the following morning, I sat in the café alone. I felt completely defeated. I could not imagine how to proceed from this loss. I felt so pitiful, in which the café wallowing in cement, rubble and a half standing tree trunk sticking out of the floor. In darkness, I sat wondering if all of the effort, in steering around hurdles of obstacles were going to vain, here. In that instance, light broke the darkness, as the door swung open. In walked Okello. He asked if there was any work available.
From that day on, Okello has worked tirelessly, nearly every afternoon, to bring this café to fruition. He and his friend, David, the most genuine of carpenters, have worked tirelessly. On weekends and after school late into the evening, this efficient, reliable duo have been heaven-sent.. After paying Okello his first big sum of money, he went straight to his high school, to pay his fees, which he had not been able to pay this semester. Unbeknownst to me, his persistence was rooted in his desperation to stay in school. As a total orphan, he has been paying his way through one of the best and most expensive schools in Gulu. This last semester, the Principal had threatened to kick him out of school for unpaid fees. He pleaded with the Administration, saying he would have the school fees by the end of the month. His persistence finally won me over, and eventually won over my heart. The café is nearly ready to open. A tree stands proudly, beautifully in the middle of the café. Benches, coffee bars, stools and tables have been created. And in the process I have made a great friend. On a big payday for a week of work, Okello wanted to talk to me. We sat down and all he wanted to say was thanks, for two reasons. The first was that he was now able to go to school through the next semester, and into the next year. And secondly, he had made his first Western friend. It was a great moment as I gave him a handshake full of cash.
During the first week of renovating what is to become Kope Café, Okello walked in. I was measuring the are for which Franco and Jimmy, the eccentric designing duo, would break through the floor to install a tree in the middle of the café, serving as the base for a balcony. Over a shrieking, sparking tile cutter, Okello asked if there was any work available. In an area like Gulu, where poverty is prevalent everywhere, this was quickly becoming a routine conversation during my day at the café. As sparks flew, not from contact with the tile, but from the electrical outlet, where these designers had frayed the ends of the power tool and stuffed the two shards of wire into the socket, I told Okello no. I didn’t have the time or patience to deal with another person working on the café. Jimmy and Franco were more than enough to deal with. A few days later, as we were cutting, by hand, a tree trunk 2 feet in diameter, Okello walked in again. In between breaks, not to rest, but to replace the rickety saw blade, which broke after 2 hours of cutting the base of the tree, Okello asked if I could give him some work. In between arguing with the designers over where the money I had given them to rent a power saw, I told Okello no. The following week, as we were lifting this massive tree trunk with fitted iron rods into the holes we had created in the floor of the café, Okello walked in. While realizing that the designers had incorrectly measured the holes, and we were going to have to again rent the power drill to fix their mistake, I told Okello that I had no work for him.
The following week, as Jimmy and I were meeting with an engineer to discuss the supplies purchased to cement the tree base into place, Okello walked in. Over a heated conversation, in realizing that Jimmy had bought all of the wrong supplies, I told Okello no. This time he did not leave. He sat in the shop. Confidently, sat in silence. After the conversation died down, and Jimmy left to go buy new supplies, he approached. He noticed that one of the tables we had had made were broken, and offered to fix it overnight. He was asking for 5,000 shillings, including supplies. Costs aside, this would give him $1.20 in labor to transport the table, and fix it entirely. Exasperated by his persistence, I had no reason not to comply with his request. He tied this enormous table to the back of his bike and rode off. The next day, he returned. The table was repaired, sanded and painted. It looked like new. That week, Jimmy stole items from the café. Realizing it the following morning, I sat in the café alone. I felt completely defeated. I could not imagine how to proceed from this loss. I felt so pitiful, in which the café wallowing in cement, rubble and a half standing tree trunk sticking out of the floor. In darkness, I sat wondering if all of the effort, in steering around hurdles of obstacles were going to vain, here. In that instance, light broke the darkness, as the door swung open. In walked Okello. He asked if there was any work available.
From that day on, Okello has worked tirelessly, nearly every afternoon, to bring this café to fruition. He and his friend, David, the most genuine of carpenters, have worked tirelessly. On weekends and after school late into the evening, this efficient, reliable duo have been heaven-sent.. After paying Okello his first big sum of money, he went straight to his high school, to pay his fees, which he had not been able to pay this semester. Unbeknownst to me, his persistence was rooted in his desperation to stay in school. As a total orphan, he has been paying his way through one of the best and most expensive schools in Gulu. This last semester, the Principal had threatened to kick him out of school for unpaid fees. He pleaded with the Administration, saying he would have the school fees by the end of the month. His persistence finally won me over, and eventually won over my heart. The café is nearly ready to open. A tree stands proudly, beautifully in the middle of the café. Benches, coffee bars, stools and tables have been created. And in the process I have made a great friend. On a big payday for a week of work, Okello wanted to talk to me. We sat down and all he wanted to say was thanks, for two reasons. The first was that he was now able to go to school through the next semester, and into the next year. And secondly, he had made his first Western friend. It was a great moment as I gave him a handshake full of cash.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
KOPE UPDATE: 1
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...
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...
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