africa changes everything.

Today I woke up at Maggie's feeling refreshed and ready. Happy after a night of good, clean sleep. I felt awake as I walked to breakfast, but little did I know I was still asleep. Asleep to the harsh reality that is rural Uganda. I would soon have my eyes opened, my mind awakened and my heart broken. 

But first, we had breakfast. I recently discovered I really, really can't eat gluten, try as I might. Before this trip I realized I could either avoid it and probably be a little hungry, or eat it and 

ship my pants.

 Knowing today was a bathroom-less day (a hole in the ground kind of day - which I later found out was many a day in Africa) I opted out of gluten this morning. 

This meant a breakfast of tons of really, really great pineapple, sausage (not normally my jam but I had a quick pep talk with myself then went for it) and really tasty Ugandan coffee. Pineapple and coffee would soon become my most favorite Ugandan staples.

After that, we hopped on some 1960s single speeds and rode about 30 minutes to our work site. 

It was here that we began building a nursery school for the littlest kids. We started by stomping mud, which was made from a termite mound and water. Once the mud was broken down, we rolled it into balls and transferred it to the classroom, which was already framed. Then, we packed the mud into the frame, pushing it down hard. 

One man said to me: 

Well done. You've done this before?

 My day was made. (Always a pleaser.) 

After that, we took more mud and flung it against the wall (my favorite part), then smoothed it out. 

While we were working the mud, women were mixing animal dung with water to make a paste to hold the framed walls together. They use absolutely everything. So resourceful. 

We took one break in the morning for tea, which was the tastiest tea I've ever had. It was ginger and the flavor would probably take ten tea bags to replicate in the US. It was the real deal. 

A while after noon we stopped for lunch. We ate from the back of the Gundi on a big tarp. 

I watched as the locals all lined up for food and my heart hurt. They moved from working - hands covered in mud and manure and, truly, only God knows what else - to a bucket of muddy water. They dipped their hands into it and got food from the truck. They ate their rice, cooked banana and meat with their hands, scooping up the sticky grain. 

I sat next to them with my fork, knowing full well that even if I offered it to them, they wouldn't know what it was - what to call it or how to use it. They took full portions, knowing this might be the only meal they get today. 

And I'm so sorry to admit this but as I sat there, my heart breaking for them, you know who I was worried about? 

Myself. 

Are these forks sanitary? What am I being exposed to, eating with filthy hands? 

I have a cut on my foot, could stomping in the mud give me a disease? 

Baby, beautiful baby, perfect baby, diaperless baby, please don't go to the bathroom on me. 

I am sorry. 

I am so sorry that I thought of myself, my safety first. 

I held that baby and hugged the kids and worked hard and loved as much as I could. But somewhere deep in my mind I worried for myself. 

And I wish, more than anything, that wasn't true. 

After lunch, but before we began working again, I played with the kids. I took their pictures and then showed them; they screamed every time. Gushing over the fact that they could see themselves. Laughing and jumping for joy, literally. 

Two kids said to me, Madame, we want to come to America with you. 

Oh, I want to take you, sweet child. I want to take you with me forever. I want to take you to my house and send you to school and give you books and food and a bed. I want to clean you and feed you. And then I want to tuck you in and read you Goodnight Moon. I want you to tell me you don't like a food and I want you to make a Christmas list.

But I couldn't. So I just said: you do? Well maybe you can come someday. 

But the truth is, I hope they don't. Because I hope Uganda can rejuvenate itself. I hope it can become self-sustaining again. I hope this country that has been ravaged by disease and war, broken in so many ways, can become strong. 

And even as my heart ached for them, biking away toward a clean shower and Lara bar, knowing they were going home to more dirt, not changing out of these filthy clothes or using soap, I saw joy. 

Joy in the eyes of the children. Laughter among the parents - joking with us as we slowed down and dropped the mud pies. Happiness as we finished the classroom. Hope as they spoke of the kids coming to school here. 

There is hope among this pain. Joy among the suffering. So much beauty in the people. 

I don't know what I'll do when I leave. I don't know how it will impact me when I return to the States. But I do know that I'll never be the same. 

Africa changes everything.

good morning, africa

In the mornings in Atlanta, sometimes when I open my blinds I like to say: good morning Atlanta! And then I think: wow I live in Atlanta! It still catches me by surprise every now and then.

This morning I woke up and looked out into Uganda and thought: Good morning Africa! Wow. I'm in 

Africa

. That's nuts.

We awakened to be greeted by headlines about unrest in Kampala. We said that the only option for us was to laugh - not because it's even remotely funny - but because what are the odds that the day we arrive in Kampala is the first time in months the city makes headlines? Life has a way about it, doesn't it?

We ate breakfast at the hotel and then drove to a safe house in Kampala where girls come after being rescued from sex trafficking or prostitution. For the girls' safety, we can't share pictures or videos with their faces, but trust me when I say they were so beautiful and joyful. 

They were so excited to see us. 

Restore International

 (with whom I'm volunteering) funds the house and sponsors the girls. After worshipping, they introduced themselves and shared their stories.

They told us about how their families kicked them out, no longer able to afford them. Men would find them on the streets, as young as 7 years old, and offer them a place to sleep. The men would abuse them sexually, then discard them - forcing them back onto the street, without a bed. They cried and told us how grateful they were for our support. They told us about how their lives were once hopeless and they were broken, but now, at the ages of 13-18, they were becoming whole again. They knew hope and that Christ can redeem anything. They told us that by sharing their stories they were acknowledging their pasts, and showing they no longer had power over them. To share is to say you will learn and grow from it. 

I needed to hear this. I really believe that our past shouldn't dictate our futures, that we can break cycles of pain. But to see these girls, whom have experienced deep, deep pain and abuse putting it into practice was incredible. 

After that, we took a tour. The girls all begged us: come see my bed. Guess which bed is mine? Will you take my picture on my bed? They were so proud - this is their little space in the world. They once begged for a place to sleep - sacrificing their bodies and dignity to find it - and now they have their own beds. I loved them. 

After the tour and lunch, we left Kampala for Kakooge, where we would stay the next two nights. 

It was about a three hour, bumpy drive in our bus. It was hot. Really hot. The kind of hot that is sticky with dust blowing in the bus and plastering to your skin. 

Yet I still loved the drive. I loved the scenery. It was exactly what you'd imagine Africa to be - except a lot more pain than I anticipated. Everywhere I looked was poverty. Men came up to the bus windows asking us to buy their water. People walked along the roads, peddling their food from baskets balancing on their heads. About 85 percent of Uganda is currently unemployed, and so many people were just sitting around - outside their huts, on the ground, outside storefronts. 

We drove along bumpy, bumpy dirt roads. It was a crazy mix of beauty and sadness. Broken down houses amid dirt and trash and luscious green brush. Bright trees and red roofs dotted the horizon, but as we drove into that horizon, everything became clear. The red roofs sat on falling down walls. The green trees were littered with trash. Dust flew into our bus. Huge potholes splashed us with dirty water. 

But I felt the breeze on my face and smiled and waved at the people going by. It was dirty but oh so happy. 

If you know me outside of my blog you likely know I'm a terrible sleeper. I am a bit of an insomniac and I hate it. Not asleep in the middle of the night is a lonely, frustrating place to be. I can't nap for the life of me. Even when I had mono I went to school. Why not when you can't sleep anyway? 

I tell you all of this because it was on this hot, sticky, bumpy bus that I found rest. Somehow among the noise and pollution and mess I fell asleep for almost an hour. I felt so much peace being here - I knew I was fully in the right spot - and I somehow just turned my mind off and crashed. It was incredible. To those of you who love naps: I get it now. It felt amazing. 

Eventually I did wake up. Fortunately because there was still a lot to see. 

As we neared our village, the road narrowed and suddenly it looked like we were one of the first to venture this way. We weren't I knew. But still, it was remote. The kids ran out to see us. They jumped and yelled and cheered as we drove by. Byyeeeeaaaa bus! They screamed with two-handed waves. 

We drove by a little boy pumping water out of a well. My heart melted. I almost cried. 

That's what we did last summer!

 Love in action. 

Then we hit a roadblock. Literally. For no apparent reason there was a mound of dirt in the middle of the road. We tried digging with sticks. It was ineffective. Then out of nowhere, a man just appeared. He said nothing. He just cleared the dirt. And left. 

Why, thank you, sir. 

Then we arrived at 

AHI

, which is a school run by an amazing woman named Maggie. She has an 

incredible story

 that led her to starting this school, which trains Ugandans vocationally, with the hope that this country can eventually become self sustaining again. 

They're all being trained in hospitality, hoping to find a job in a hotel someday - cleaning rooms, cooking, etc. Because of that, they offered incredible service. Maggie used to run high-end restaurants in Seattle, so she knows what Westerners demand. She told us she trains them to offer five star service, not for our benefit, but for their own. All of the students are sponsored by Maggie (she fundraises) so they're all so grateful for the opportunity and take it very seriously. 

We walked into a beautiful dinner lit by solar panels and candles. It was gorgeous and so delicious. After dinner, we read bible verses and prayed. I sat there full of food and happiness and suddenly thought of my desk back at work. I couldn't have been further from corporate America in that moment.  

We were all given verses to read and mine happened to be about rest. How appropriate after my little bus activity. It seems this trip, which forced me to fully unplug (no wifi or cell service), let go of all control (no shared itinerary) and trust completely in God, already had a theme. To rest in Christ's provisions. His plan. 

However, I got into bed and felt really homesick. Super lonely. I had spent all day knowing I needed to be on this journey alone but I laid there questioning why. I read notes my bible study gave me and looked at pictures of my family. They felt way too far away. I journaled and cried. I couldn't believe I had so many nights ahead of me. I just wanted to be with my family. But I read and prayed for peace and more rest (getting greedy right!?). 

I fell asleep a little homesick but hopeful, knowing I was here, solo, for good reason. Now I just had to figure out what that reason was :)

welcome to africa

I was blinded by the darkness when I landed in Entebbe. Only the moon shone through the black cloudy sky, lighting up the drivers' faces asking me repeatedly: Madame do you need a ride? Do you have a group? Are you alone? Are you sure someone is coming for you? I can take you. 

Courtney told me I might want to cry when I landed and I didn't understand why. But then I landed and I wanted to cry. For the first time since April I began to wonder why I chose to give up two weeks in a foreign country, alone. Why didn't I persist when my friends and family told me they wanted to go to Africa, too? 

For some reason I became friends with the flight attendant en route from Amsterdam. Near customs, she ran up to me, asking if I had forgotten my jacket by chance.

No I hadn't, but do you want to hug right now?

I wanted to ask her. 

I was alone for the next hour and half, filled with excitement, fear and worry. Was someone actually meeting me? Why didn't I exchange phone numbers with anyone from the group? I couldn't wait to see the stars. I couldn't wait to see the scenery. 

And then I found my group. I'd never met them but they felt familiar immediately. There was a burst of excitement as we joined together and loaded on to the bus. We were here at last! 

Once we left the airport and began driving, silence fell over us. A mix of exhaustion and awe hit us all at once. 

We drove about an hour to our hotel in Kampala - taking in the scenery - both sad and beautiful. The roads were dirt and the sky was big, black. There was an odd mix of advertising: US-made products, "proud to be African" signs and PSAs, begging people to get tested for HIV. 

We passed a house made out of an old Huggies billboard. After that, every billboard we passed, I thought:

you're next, sign. Who will you shelter someday? Whose home will you be? 

Emaciated livestock lined the side of the roads. Women walked along the street, balancing baskets of sugar cane on their heads. 

There was trash everywhere. So much trash. People just living on the streets among the trash. Bodabodas zipped by. There were no road signs, intersections simply a game of chicken. I have been to foreign countries that have felt very foreign before. But this truly felt like a different world. 

We arrived at the hotel and I felt an odd mix of excitement and confusion. Where am I? Why am I here? And what will happen next?

I couldn't wait to find out. 

i'm back!

Hello (: I'm back and I'm processing. 

I wrote a lot while I was in Africa. The way I felt, the things I feared, the things I loved. My mind was a constant journal, at first consuming and digesting, but by the end just cataloging. I was too overloaded to process anymore. 

Africa changed me. My heart is broken and full all at once. I'll never forget the things I saw or the way I felt while I was there. Now that I've left Gulu, I don't understand how I fit it into my life here. Or rather, how I allow it to fully blow up my entire life, forcing me to question everything. 

I feel completely overwhelmed by everything I saw and did, but I know I don't have to hurry. Things will sort themselves out; will fall into place naturally. 

After our hardest day there, I got into bed and felt like I needed to be lifted up. I was so, so sad and wanted to find some peace. 

Something I noticed in Africa is that it put me in beach mode constantly. When I'm at the beach, I'm always thinking: holy moly, God! You made that!? That beach - that sky - that sunset. That's beautiful!  And that's how I felt for a lot of my time in Africa. 

I decided I would read Genesis 1 that night to mellow out. Why not just read about how it all began, right? 

Well I was really tired and it was really hot and sticky out, so my bible was sticking together and it wouldn't open to Genesis 1. So I was like finnnnnne I'll read chapter 2. 

Lo and behold, I opened it up and the last time I had read this chapter was Jan. 13, 2013 and in the margin I had written: should I go to Africa? 

YALL! 

I completely forgot I had gone into 2013 wondering that. 

God is so faithful. 

So even though I'm not sure what to do with everything I learned in Africa, I know it'll become clear to me. Just give me like two (or 100) days to sort it out.

In the meantime, I'm going to post my journal entries from the trip, because I want to offer my most authentic feelings from my time there. I only ask that you read them with a graceful lens. At the start of the week I was totally overwhelmed. By the end, I know God really changed my heart. Forgive me for needing to be changed. 

I'm in Boston today, then Austin tomorrow, so I'm slowly processing and getting everything posted. I can't wait to share everything.

Stay tuned!