On Insomnia

It's five in the morning and I'm sitting alone in front of my laptop, watching the cursor blink. Here's what I've learned today.

We're broken and we're lonely. We can't do this on our own. Not for long. So we look for comfort and peace wherever we can find it. We think we'll find it in a partner, friends, stuff, work, etc. We won't, though. It's unfair to our loved ones to place on them the burden of making us complete. They can't do it.

The truth is that when we are lonely and desperate for comfort and relief, the only place we will ever be satisfied is in the arms of God himself. Everything else only adds to the torment.

I believe that if we trust God with our lives, then everything will fall into place. I hope that's true, because I'm clinging to it.

Where I Live

I made it home, safe and sound. I'd like to thank you again for your interest in East Africa, and for your interest in my own personal experiences.

It's 5:08 AM in the morning here in Texas, and I've already been awake for a couple of hours. My first week home has been exactly what I expected - good but bizarre. My internal clock is still set on Ugandan time, and it's been difficult to readjust to American suburban life.

I came home to a stack of papers, letters, and files that need my attention, so I don't really have the luxury of easing into anything. Maybe that's better. Maybe it's better to jump in without any hesitation.

I've started working on my presentation, so I think the next post will be more information about that. Let me leave you with these words, taken from a piece of art in Ilea's house. I saw the piece as soon as I arrived in Kampala, and it has been tearing me apart ever since:

If you have come to help me
you are wasting your time...

But if you have come
because your
liberation
is bound up with mine,

Then let us struggle
together.

Brussels

I have a four hour layover in Brussels so I thought I would type an entry out. Fast internet is confusing for me so I am visiting every site I have ever heard of. Also, this keyboqrd is setup for people from Belgium so the letters are in different places. This is zhqt it zould look like if I just typed nor,qlly qnd didnùt look qt the keys on the keyboqrd: I cqnùt figure out zhy they ,qke you shift just to get q period:

I at least made it safely to Europe. I am about to head out to JFK in NYC, where I have a five hour layover. I might type another message from there for fun.

Also, I hope you can come to my get-together. I brought goodies...

Now I am going to Publier Le Message. I hope that means Publish and not Delete Everything on the Computer.

The Fifth

It’s August 5th, and I have a plane ticket that says August 6th. That’s wild.

I’m not ready to leave Kampala yet. I miss everyone back home in Texas, but I’m really not ready to leave. I’ve met so many amazing people here, and I’ve grown up a lot. I even drink coffee now! And I have a briefcase. That sounds like the real world to me.

I apologize for not updating in the past couple of weeks. I think I’ve avoided updating because I’m in denial. I don’t want to think about leaving. I’m really enjoying the work, and I feel like we might be making some progress. I want to keep running with it.

I’m also involved in quite a few new friendships, and I’m not even vaguely interested in putting an ocean between us. I’m confident we’ll all keep in touch (we’re already planning reunions), but it’s not the same as being here. To be honest, I’m getting a lump in my throat just writing this.

There’ve been a lot of ups and downs in the past couple of months. Sometimes, I was ready to buy a house in Kampala. Sometimes, I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it. Right now, though, I feel like this was one of the best experiences of my life. I’d put it up with my time in Oxford and my last semester of college.

Let me try and summarize it like this:

The street I live on isn’t paved – it’s dirt. It rains all the time in Kampala, so a lot of times my road is a mix of rock, sludge, and mud. You have to be careful where you step, or else you’ll be up to your shins in orange mud. Unless you make sure you’re walking on rocks, you’ll get stuck.

I think that’s how simple life is. It’s messy and there’s nothing you can do about the messiness. You can only decide how to handle it. You walk with God and you’ll make it. If you don’t walk with God, you’ll sink. There is absolutely no way around it.

Even when you walk on the rocks, though, it’s still messy. You’ll still have mud caked on your shoes. You’ll still get mud on your pants. That really bothered me at first, but I learned to accept it.

I think that if you don’t have any mud on you, you’re doing something wrong. I think you’re missing something.

I’m also trying to figure out how the same rain that showers the dirt off of me creates the mud that I have to walk on. I don’t know what that means yet. Maybe I’m pushing the analogy too far. Or maybe I have a lot more thinking to do.

The night before I flew to Kampala I was sitting at a friend’s apartment in Dallas. I told you my flight plan. I guess I should bookend this trip by doing the same.

Tomorrow night, I fly from Kampala to Belgium to New York to Dallas to Austin. I’ll land around midnight on Tuesday night. I suspect I’ll be numb to depressed until I can process this trip. But I don’t think I’ll want to be by myself for a while. I’m looking forward to running around town with my friends.

There’s a girl here that I trust more than almost anyone, and she told me that it was healthy to go home feeling frustrated asking a lot of questions. I’m relieved she said that, because that’s exactly how I feel and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Here’s what I do know – I can’t put this summer behind me. I can’t bury this. I can’t go back to who I was in May. I don’t think I’d want to, either.

I think this is the last real entry that I’ll post on here. from Kampala. I hope you’ve gotten something out of these 74 days. I hope that this is a beginning for you, and not an end.

I want to say thank you to everyone reading this. To my friends and family back home – thank you for your kind words and for your photos and for your never-ending Facebook messages. I’m really looking forward to having everyone over, and I’ll post more details on that later. To my Kampala friends – jebele. You’ve done more for me than I can tell you, but I think you knew that anyway. To strangers – I have no idea what you googled to get here, but I’m glad you showed up. To Bianca in CA – email me because I want to talk. To Ugandans – you’ve got a great place. It really is the Pearl of Africa.

Final bits of random trivia:
I may or may not have worms living in my feet.
I may or may not be featured in a Ugandan television commercial.
I have one painted toenail.
I can take a complete shower in under 75 seconds.

Luggage

I'm sorry I've been silent for so long - things have been a bit hectic lately. We've been conducting a lot of interviews and doing a lot of fact finding. It's been both encouraging and sobering. We feel like there are a lot of brilliant people looking for solutions to the problems the judiciary faces, but that it will take a couple of years to actually see the benefits of everyone's work. The truth is that 74 days is nowhere near long enough to do anything but come home with some questions. 74 days is just the beginning.

I'm not sure how much I will be able to update until I come home, but I plan on putting up some end of the trip thoughts. I'll just need a little bit of time to get everything together.

Don't worry about my silence, though. I'm alive and healthy. I've even gained back a lot of the 20 pounds that I lost on the trip.

I'm really excited about having everyone over for a get together and presentation, and I hope you can make it. I'll be posting more information about that later.

I'll also be at ACU Lectureship in September. I'll be glad to talk with anyone who is interested in what's going on here.

My internet time is up.

See you soon..

Estrellas

I spent the weekend on Lake Bunyonyi in an area called Kabale. "Bunyonyi" means, "place of many small birds." They should just call it Lake Perfect because that's what it is. Even a pessimist would probably have to call it Lake Perfect except I Wish it was a Couple of Degrees Warmer at Night.

Anyway, it was a wonderful weekend. Highlights included piloting a dugout canoe, climbing to the top of our island with local hosts, swimming at dusk, and watching teenage girls make fun of my roommate. A good time was had by all. I'm going to try and post a few picturs sometime this week. No promises, though. If you live in Austin then I'm going to host a party when I come home so that you can see my pictures and hear about my trip. (Mom and Dad, I thought of that just now; we should do that.)

Beauty has always been tricky for me. I guess it goes back to the idea of Joy and Sorrow walking hand in hand. They live together. They give one another importance and meaning.

I was walking by the Lake around 2 AM on Saturday morning, and it was perfect. The wind was chilly, a campfire across the lake mirrored itself in the lake, bullfrogs were croaking, and it was so dark that I could see the Milky Way in the sky. Perfect.

As I was overwhelmed with the beauty before me, I was overwhelmed with loneliness and expectation. Everyone understands loneliness, so I don't need to say much on that.

Expectation is about the Kingdom of God. It's about realizing that we are his Kingdom, that Creation is His Kingdom. That we are brothers and sisters. I was overwhelmed by tbe beauty of what God had made, of the possibilities that he cultivates in us. By our ability to love and hope and forgive and do good. I exhaled and I suddenly felt very tired. I wished we didn't have to struggle and hate and die - I wished we could all just go home. I looked forward to that day.

I sat on the pier and I wondered if anything we were trying to do this summer would matter. I racked my brain trying to figure out how to get kids in school, how to make sure the schools were adequate. What I could do to strengthen the infrastructure of the judiciary. What I could do to help ensure that profits from the oil recently found in Uganda would help Ugandans instead of a few guys in the UK and Australia. I wondered if we were actually hurting Uganda by being here.

If I could describe my experience this summer, I would probably say overwhelming. Poverty, death, cruelty, hope, love, compassion, forgiveness. It's all here in abundance.

I heard once that the greatest of all of these things is love. I heard that it can bear all things. I heard that it's patient. I heard that it never fails. I guess you can never know if that's true or not, but I'm inclined to believe it. I have a hunch.

I decided that being here meant something, even if I couldn't understand it. I dedided that's true anywhere you are in the world. No matter who you are or what you are doing. I took one last look at the lake, the stars, and I shivered a little bit from the breeze. I walked to my cabin and I fell asleep.

The Shadow Proves the Sunshine

Today has been a good day. We are currently starting Phase Two of our internship. Phase One was all about helping the Justices with their casework. Phase Two is brainstorming about the judicial infrastructure of the country.

This morning, we had the chance to tour the International Justice Mission office. We have met everyone anyway, but today we got to see them in their element. It's good to see your friends doing what they do, and doing it well. I was proud.

After that, we had brunch and headed to a meeting with some higher-ups in the judiciary. It was AMAZINGLY productive and encouraging. The next couple of weeks are going to be hectic (in a good way) as we scramble to research, network, and make appropriate recommendations.

According to my calculations, I will be in Texas in 26 days. As you can tell from the title of this site, that means I am in the final few weeks. Oh my ride is here I have to go.

Cheers,
Broseph

Gulu

I’m having a hard time figuring out how to explain an IDP camp. I guess I’ll start with the name. “IDP” means “Internally Displaced Person.” So an IDP camp is a refugee camp for people who stay in their home country but not at home.

Hundreds of thousands of Ugandans live in IDP camps. On Saturday, I visited a camp northern Uganda. It was outside of a town called Gulu, which is less than 200 km from the Sudan.

The particular camp that I visited (which will remain unnamed) contains about 50,000 people. Although these camps are supposed to be temporary, they have existed long enough so that an entire generation of Ugandans see the camps as home. They’ve never actually been “home.”

The best way to describe the camps is to say that these people are living in their own waste. The best word to describe the living situation rhymes with “hit” but this is a family website and I’d rather not offend anybody. But that is the most accurate description.

There are 50,000 people and there is no septic system. There is just an area filled with human waste. Also, there livestock waste is bountiful throughout the entire camp. This is a problem for numerous reasons. Physically, it’s a problem because of proximity. Disease spreads quickly through waste, flies, mosquitoes, and drinking water. Spiritually, it’s a problem because people aren’t supposed to be forced to live like this.

The LRA (Lord’s Resistance Army) is a bizarre group that terrorizes people in the north. That’s why Ugandans live in the camps. I’m avoiding politics because I don’t want this site to get flagged for monitoring any more than it has to, but if you Google “LRA” or “northern Uganda” then you can find what you need.

Anyway, my thoughts are scattered about the camp. More than anything the smell and the color gray stick in my mind. The mud is gray, the water is gray, the mud houses are gray.

Another thing that sticks in my mind is humanity’s capacity for good. I went to the camp with a friend from Invisible Children. IC provides a steady source of income for hundreds in the IDP camp by buying handmade bracelets from the Ugandans. They pay these Ugandans a good wage and then sell the bracelets via IC. With the money that they make from bracelets, the Ugandans are able to support their families and also open small business to work their way out of poverty. It’s a great program.

I got to spent some time with the bracelet makers, and they showed me how to make bracelets out of reeds. We actually had a lot of fun. We laughed a lot, which I didn’t expect to do that day. I told them that many of my friends back home wear the IC bracelets, and that I would tell you about them. I’m a man of my word, so I would invite you to check out the Invisible Children website and order a bracelet. I’ve seen where your money goes and I can tell you it goes to a very good place.

I enjoyed my time with the bracelet makers, and I enjoyed my time with the kids in the camp. Kids are the same anywhere. They play games, they laugh, and sometimes they play too rough. They want attention, they want warmth and love. And kids deserve those things. Everyone does. But I digress.

The IC worker I was with spends a sizable amount of time in the camp, and the kids love him. He ran into the middle of a soccer game and started picking up kids and swinging them around. They went absolutely nuts, and it might’ve been the funniest thing I’ve seen since I’ve been in East Africa.

The lesson is that maybe we have more in common than we think. These are good people and good kids who don’t deserve the hand they’ve been dealt. I’m sure you know somebody like that – maybe it’s you.

Rwanda was devastating to me because so many people died, and no one did anything to help. These camps are even harder to stomach because people are dying and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I’ve looked these kids in the face, and I can’t just forget them. I don’t have answers, but I had two hands they could hold. Maybe that’s something. Maybe that’s a start.

If you know me well enough to know my politics, then you know I’m a realist – I’m a pragmatist with a heart. I know that money talks, and that it’s hard to get money without an education. So I’m guessing what these people need (after physical safety) is education and money. And what we need is education.

I’m positive that if most people walked through a camp they would be willing to help. We’re made to help. So let’s educate ourselves on what’s happening. Then, we can work alongside our Ugandan brothers and sisters and figure this out.

I don’t believe in, “That’s just how it is.” That’s not good enough for the people I met on Saturday. They deserve better.

So look at the Invisible Children website, look at the links on the James Travels website. Let’s get to work.

El Autobus

Ugandan bus rides are perfect for catching up on some reading and thinking. They are also great for developing chronic spinal problems. I don’t feel like I can really put the bus experience into words, so I will go ahead and give you an exercise you can try at home.

1. Crawl under your computer desk and curl into a ball.
2. Have a friend put a space heater under your desk.
3. Have a friend put a live chicken, roasted corn, and dirty gym clothes under the desk.
4. Have a friend punch you in the back.
5. Does your friend have a small child? Have them cry. Either your friend of the child. It doesn’t matter.
6. After three hours, crawl out from under the desk and relieve yourself in front of sixty strangers. Even if you are a girl.
7. Do this for at least six hours.

You’ve just experienced a bus ride in East Africa!

Cultural Observations

It’s been awhile since I’ve included any kind of Ugandan cultural trivia on here, so I have a few observations to get things started today.

First, everybody in Kampala loves mobile phones. Everyone is always texting (“SMSing”) or buying more airtime. Most people have prepaid phones, so selling airtime is a lucrative business. Guys stand in the middle of traffic during rush hour holding little airtime cards. Drivers will literally stop in the middle of the road to buy airtime. You have to really love text messages to risk life and limb just to type “C U L8R” on your mobile.

Second, people don’t try to charge me mzungu prices nearly as much. Maybe it’s because I see the same people all the time, or maybe it’s because I don’t look so confused anymore. Whatever the reason, merchants usually just charge me whatever they charge everyone else now. I always say something in the local language, and I think that helps a lot.

I know that doesn’t sound like much, but it makes my life much simpler. After a while, it gets psychologically tiring to be singled out for your skin. Locals I trust have explained to me that attempting to overcharge mzungos isn’t mean-spirited – it’s gambling. Sometimes you get lucky. I can’t get too mad because the merchants and I both know that our financial situations are worlds apart, but it gets frustrating. I’ll never blend in here. If I’m here for thirty years I’ll still be “Mzungu.”

Third, the Ugandan sense of humor is a little different than mine. Here’s a pretty good example – Today is a pretty slow work day so I started playing with my cell phone. It has a feature that allows me to receive things like jokes of the day, quotes of the days, horoscopes, etc. Here’s the joke of the day:

Teacher: What do you do if you choke on an ice cube?
L-Johnny: Don’t panic. Simply pour a kettle of freshly boiling water down your throat.

That just doesn’t do it for me.

My final cultural observation of the day displays worldwide solidarity among men. The observation is this: most Ugandan men don’t like to dance. They will only go if their girlfriends or wives make them, and even then there are no guarantees. Also, men here make fun of their girlfriends and wives for taking a long time to get ready to go out. In fact, a local friend of ours told us that if he needs to leave the house by nine, he tells his wife to be ready by eight. He said they are still usually late.

Maybe we have more in common than we think.

On Fire

"On Fire"
By Switchfoot

They tell you where you need to go
They tell you when you'll need to leave
They tell you what you need to know
They tell you who you need to be

But everything inside you knows
There's more than what you've heard
There's so much more than empty conversations
Filled with empty words

And you're on fire
When He's near you
You're on fire
When He speaks
You're on fire
Burning at these mysteries

Give me one more time around
Give me one more chance to see
Give me everything You are
Give me one more chance to be... (near You)

Cause everything inside me looks like
Everything I hate
You are the hope I have for change
You are the only chance I'll take

When I'm on fire
When You're near me
I'm on fire
When You speak
And I'm on fire
Burning at these mysteries
These mysteries...

I'm standing on the edge of me [x3]
I'm standing on the edge of everything I've never been before.
And i've been standing on the edge of me
Standing on the edge

And I'm on fire
When You're near me
I'm on fire
When You speak
(Yea) I'm on fire
Burning at these mysteries... these mysteries... these mysteries
Ah you're the mystery
You're the mystery


I don't really have any big updates, so I'll just give you a quick rundown:

- We didn't get to go to Gulu last weekend, so I think we are going this weekend.
- I turned in my first legal memos to the court. I was very proud of myself.
- Diehard 4 comes out this Friday. Yes, I will be seeing it.
- There's a musicians' jam session every Monday night at the National Theatre. I'm a fan.
- Our new roommate is great. We're getting one more tomorrow, and then our family on Nagura Hill will be complete!

Thanks to everybody who sent me emails and pictures. I really appreciated them all.

PHRASE OF THE DAY: "Oli malungi nyo." It means, "You are very beautiful." It's probably the most useful phrase that we've learned thus far.

Up for Air

"The Blues"
By Switchfoot

Is this the New Year or just another night?
Is this the new fear or just another fright?
Is this the new tear or just another desperation?

Is this the finger or just another fist?
Is this the kingdom or just a hit n' miss?
A misdirection, most in all this desperation

Is this what they call freedom?
Is this what you call pain?
Is this what they call discontented fame?

It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in

I'm singing this one like a broken piece of glass
From broken arms an' broken noses in the back
Is this the New Year or just another desperation?

You're pushing till you're shoving
You bend until you break
Till you stand on the broken fields where our fathers lay

It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in

There's nothing here worth saving,
Is no one here at all?
Is there any net left that could break our fall?

It'll be a day like this one
When the sky falls down and the hungry and poor and deserted are found
Are you discontented? Have you been pushing hard?
Have you been throwing down this broken house of cards?

It'll be a day like this one
When the world caves in
When the world caves in
When the world caves in

Is there nothing left now?
Nothing left to sing
Are there any left who hasn't kiss the enemy?
Is this the New Year or just another desperation?

Does justice never find you? Do the wicked never lose?
Is there any honest song to sing besides these blues?

And nothing is okay
Till the world caves in



I won't lie to you - I'm still pretty shaken up from this weekend. I've developed an unconscious habit of rubbing the callouses on my fingertips. I think I can still feel everything that I've touched.

I'm going to go ahead and get some reader involvement here. I know that several of my friends read this, so if you are a friend of mine and you have a picture of me and you together, or just a picture of you, then send it to me and I will make it my desktop background for the day. I am already putting several of you on my background picture cycle and it really brightens my day. So send pictures to joseph.halbert@gmail.com. Send me some emails, too, because every time I have internet access I save all your emails in a word document and then take some time every night to write back. I really like doing it and it makes me feel connected to everyone back home.

I've added a new section on this page called "Recommended Reading." I recommend you read these books.

Just in case anyone was wondering, I've been listening to the band Switchfoot every day. Particularly, the album Nothing is Sound. It seems to fit where I am in my life perfectly. Give it a listen.

I'm going to a region called Gulu on Friday. There are several IDP (Internally Displaced Person) camps up there, so I'm going to spend some time seeing whatever it is I need to see.

This might be it for the week, so I hope to hear from you and I'll be sure to post something of substance soon.

Cheers,
Joseph

Fingertips

For days I’ve been trying to come up with an effective way to relate what I saw and felt in Rwanda. I want to convey to you what it means when a million people are murdered by their neighbors, friends, and family. I want to understand it myself.

I want to understand how so many people could be killed so brutally. I stood in a church where 10,000 people where killed. I felt the bullet holes in the walls, in the communion table, on the floor. I touched the blood stained alter. I wept when a woman at a church told me that I wasn’t touching bullet holes, but marks left in the walls by shards of skull. The machetes had that much force. I touched the blood stains on the walls. Children were swung around by their legs and smashed against the wall, to save ammunition.

I saw rows and rows and rows of skulls and bones. I touched a blunt club used to shatter skulls.

I watched grown men break down as they tried to explain to me the complete and utter devastation.

I broke down myself as I looked at family photos of victims. Wedding pictures, pictures of mothers and baby daughters and the hospital, pictures of teenage girls dancing at a party, pictures of soccer players after a big game.

I wept when I looked at a picture of two sisters, ages two and three, who were grenaded while they hid in a shower.

I wept when I looked a picture of a beautiful two year old girl who was stabbed in the eyes and head until she died.

I wept when I thought of the 500,000 women who were raped. I thought about all of the women in my life.

I thought of the 300,000 children were orphaned.

I saw rows and rows of skulls, many shattered by clubs and machetes. I stared straight into where their eyes would’ve been.

In the span of three hours, my fingers touched the graves of 40,000 victims. 40,000 life stories, wasted.

I cannot understand what I saw, or the devastation that lives in the walking wounded.

Here is what I do know:

If we think that one million people were killed, we are wrong. One person, one life, one spirit, was taken from this world, one million times over. One million life stories ended. Their stories were cut short in ways that I wouldn’t believe if I had not seen with my own eyes.

A long time ago, I promised myself and you and the rest of humanity that I would never look away. This weekend that promise changed the core of me. I am positive that I am not the same person I was on Saturday morning. I am convinced that what I have touched with my own fingers has changed me on a fundamental level and has changed the direction of my life. These were God’s children. We are all children of God, and I owe it to all of you to never look away. Apathy and ignorance are not options for me. You and yours are much too valuable for that.

I want you to read a book called “We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow We Will Be Killed with our Families.” It’s written by Philip Gourevitch.

That’s all I can say right now.

Fact of the day: Military analysts agree that the presence of 5,000 troops would have prevented the genocide.

T.I.A.

I know it's been almost a week since I've posted an update. Let me go ahead and say that while I would've loved to post an update, I was a little preoccupied with "not dying."

Let me make a long and disturbing story nice and short for you by giving you a rundown of my weekend.

- Have you gotten food poisoning in America? I haven't, but I've had it in Africa!

- Have you ever had to provide a urine sample in a cup? In your drinking cup? Have you ever had to collect the urine sample and in the middle of collecting the sample your city was hit with an earthquake?

- If the doctor says, "Well, there is one more thing we can do to break the fever..." Say no and run away. Or crawl away. Just get away. Don't look back.

- Did I mention I was carrying around my own IV when I was collecting my urine sample?

- Has a doctor ever said to you, "Your body has started eating itself...it's not a good cycle."

- Have you ever had strange women pass out and fall into your room while you were hooked up to an IV? Me too.

- Make sure the first thing you drink when you get home isn't apple juice. Your body will just laugh and laugh and say, "Try again."

- Make sure your first solid food in 48 hours isn't Indian food.

I would like to publicly thank my wonderful roommates for ensuring that I survived June 14-17. I would also like to thank Kevin for mercilessly making fun of me every bizarre step of the way.

I would also like to thank Star Wars for being created, because I watched every movie this weekend.

I would also like to thank the four pounds of medicine I've swallowed in the past 48 hours. Because of you, I left the house today.

Anyway I'm fine now and I think I'll be ready for work in the morning. I just thought I would share my absurd misfortunes.

T.I.A.

A word on some links

I just realized that I haven't said much about the links on the right side of the page.

Invisible Children is a group that works on behalf of displaced chlidren in Northern Uganda. They are the people responsible for the Displace Me nights all over the world where people (usually young people) sleep in the streets to show solidarity with their little brothers and sisters in Uganda.

Waves of Justice is a blog that is loosely related to a new nonprofit called Isaiah Project International. I'm a part of IPI but I don't have anything to do with the blog. It follows the summers of young people all over the world.

International Justice Mission is basically like a holy swat team. It's a group that uses national laws to help oppressed people. Usually, it helps young people forced into prostitution, people wrongfully put into prison, and people who had their land wrongfully taken. They even stage raids on brothels. That's awesome.

Restore International is a nonprofit in India and Uganda. They do things with the judiciary, digging wells, teenage prostitutes, and some other projects. The founder, Bob, is an amazing man. He might be the most well-connected person I've come into contact with.

Ilea's Blog is Ilea's blog. Go read the whole thing and you will get a better idea of what is happening in Uganda right now. A lot of good links here.

Enjuba is a clothing/fashion company started to spur on economic development. It gives African artisans an easy way to sell their work on the internet, and therefore all over the world. A new friend of mine named Leah works for them. I honestly don't know much about this company at all, but I thought I'd pass it along.

That's all for now. I'm sure I'll add more sites later.

Mzungo, how are you?

I am:
Interested
Curious
Willing
Driven
Invested
Confused
Flawed
Selfish
Ugly
Hungry
A Force

I am not:
Anyone’s savior
Selfless
Perfect
Altruistic
Jaded
Cynical
Afraid
Fatalistic
Enough
Comfortable
Satisfied
Complete

I stood on the bank of the river, squinting to see through the rain. Each cold drop bounced off my head and ran down my shoulders, my chest. Little hands squeezed my own hands and pulled me up the hill. As we trudged through the brush, I felt orange mud squish between my toes. The children showed me everything there was to see, teaching me how to name everything in English and Luganda.

“Mzungo, this one is cassava. This one is avocado. This one is maize.”
“And this?”
“Soya bean.”
“And this?”
“Coffee.”
“And this?”
“Mzungo, that’s a tree!”

I didn’t mind the rain, or the giant bugs, or the mud that stained my feet orange. I hope my feet never lose these stains. I hope that forty years from now I remember every drop of rain that hit my buzzed head. I hope I remember every ripple in the river. I hope the sky and the trees and the hills and the mud stay as real to me as they were yesterday. In a few years a dam will stand where we stood. The children will be forced to move because their homes will be underwater. I hope that when they have left and moved on, they will remember yesterday as vividly as I do. I hope they can see and smell and feel everything. I hope they remember me like I remember them. I know I won’t forget.

I Survived the Nile River

I went whitewater rafting on the Nile River yesterday. Tales of victory, defeat, and a weird stomach problem will surely follow. For now, I just wanted to let everyone know that I went, it was maybe the most fun I've had in 2 1/2 hours, and I'm still alive. And kicking.

I'll write more later but I'm at work right now. By the way, work right now involves me consulting on the creation of a small claims court. It's a wonderful idea, and several brilliant people have already done all the work. Basically I just flew in from America to give a thumbs up.

I've realized part of the reason I'm here is so that the Ugandan higher-ups can show some young Americans that Uganda is looking pretty good in a lot of ways right now. And then young Americans will tell other Americans. That's fine with me, though, because a lot of traveling is just about understanding yourself and the world around you. If we can come over, help a little bit, and learn a lot about this beautiful country, then that's a good 74 Days, yeah?

Talk to me!

Good news, friends! I am the proud owner of the most economically priced mobile phone in East Africa. Here's how this phone purchase went down: I handed a young woman some shillings. She proceeded to smile, laugh, and hand me an Etch-A-Sketch with an antenna. I said, "Thank you, nyabo," and scampered away.

If you feel like giving me a call, you can reach me anytime at (get ready for this): 2560712881383. I would really enjoy talking to you. Here's how many of my day to day conversations go in Kampala:

What?
What?
WHAT?
...
What?
(Smiles and gestures)

I can also receive text messages, but I haven't mastered the two white knobs yet. There's no telling whether or not you will understand my reply.

I talked to my parents today and they really appreciate all of the support you are giving both them and me. I appreciate it, too.

Oh, here's a good story: In Uganda, you can buy your own malaria testing kit. It's like a home pregnancy test in that you have to decode a series of colored lines to understand your results. It's not like a pregnancy test in that you have to draw your own blood with a giant needle. I tried to do it myself, but I just couldn't do it. I kept laughing. My roommate Kevin tried but we both kept laughing and I made him stop trying after he said, "I think I heard it work." That didn't make any sense. After fifteen minutes of screaming and laughing, Liz eventually got enough blood out of my finger to let us know that I don't have malaria. So, that's what I did today.

That's all the news I have for today. Please feel free to give me a call, and check back here often. I am going to add some pictures tomorrow.

Words of the day:
Nyabo: Mam
Sebo: Sir

Cheers,
Joey

Jinja and Malaria

I may or may not have malaria. I probably don't because no one really gets malaria in Kampala. I do have several symptoms, though, so I'm going to get tested today. What is more likely is that I swallowed some local tap water or ate something prepared with local tapwater, and that has bacteria in it that I'm not used to yet.

I really hope I'm ok because we are supposed to go to Jinja tomorrow for a legal workshop that lasts all weekend. When we aren't working we can go to the spot on Lake Victora where the Nile River supposedly begins. You can take rafting trips up the Nile from there.

SO, I hope I'm well enough to do that.

Don't worry too much about the malaria though because it's easy to remedy and it only costs about $4.25 total.

Either way, I'll write about my weekend on Sunday or Monday.

Some Friends of Mine

I've made quite a few friends since I've been here: my house mates, expat wanderers, and local people. Here are a few...

James: James is from CA, and he works for Invisible Children. He's been in charge of the IC bracelet campaign for awhile. If you know my friend Brett, then picture Brett, and you will have a general idea of James. He's thoughtful, kind, intelligent, and he's searching. Kerry and I stayed up through half of Sunday night talking with him about life in general, and I'm already sure it will be one of my favorite memories.

Jamie: Is in his thirties. He's a world traveler. My understanding of his story is that he was working in a corporate office in America and was told to fire a friend of his. He was sitting in the room and said, "You know what, let him keep his job." And he walked out of corporate life forever. Some things are more important than job security.
"
Fizer: I'm not sure how to spell his name, but Fizer is a young boy who lives at an orphanage located next to Lake Victoria. Fizer lived around an area called Jinja, but his parents beat him often so when he was VERY young he walked away from his home and walked the 80 km to Kampala, where he slept under the clock tower in the heart of downtown. I believe he was arrested but somehow ended up at the Mercy Home orphanage. He is bright, calm, and hopeful, and his eyes belie a soul much older than his years. Can you look up to a child? I suppose you can.

Fizer is just one of the more than 130 amazing people living at the Mercy Home orphanage. I know about Mercy Home because a non-profit that I work for, Isiah Project International, is working to improve the children's' dorms and build a permanent school for the orphans and the many children of the surrounding area. They had a temporary school, but it blew down in a recent storm. We hope to have the temporary building up again by the end of next week, and we hope to break ground on the permanent school very soon. Currently we are making sure that we have competent people of integrity at every level of the building and financing process. It's rather arrogant and reckless to spend a few months in a place and believe you know what is best. We aren't interested in that messy road. Too much hurt comes from it.

Speaking of hurt, I must confess to you that when I first heard about the new school building, I thought it sounded like a good project. I thought it was a good way to help and make a difference. Once I met Fizer and hung out with the children of Mercy Home, though, "project" meant nothing to me. "Making a difference" sounded so silly. I was just spending time with some friends of mine.

If you'd like to meet my friends at Mercy Home, send me an email and I'll tell you what you can do.

Vocabulary of the day:
There are dirtbikes and motorcycles for hire all over Kampala. The drivers will take you anywhere you want to go for a very reasonable price. The bikes are called "boda bodas." Someone told me this came from "border to border." That seems right. Anyway the drivers have crazy names like Scorpion and they wreck all the time. I rode a boda boda once and that was enough to prove to me that they are unsafe and crazy. I rode one again just to make sure. Don't worry, friends, I take taxis now.

Although it is impossible to reduce a diverse amalgam of cultures into a word, I feel like I can point you in the right direction of understanding the people of Uganda. Uganda is Brexico. Brexico is a mix if Britain and Mexico. Since Uganda was a colony until 1962, it has retained much of the vocabulary and practices of the UK. Examples are driving on the left side of the road and "topping up" cell phone minutes. The people are very Mexican in their diet, attitude, and spirit. Rice, beans, tortillas are very popular here, although the tortillas have different names. Even though people may not have much, they are more than generous in sharing what they do have. They are a warm and friendly despite what we in the US would consider hard times. Brexico.

I finally found a reliable internet cafe so expect two posts a week on here.

Cheers,
Joey

Yes, I am a mzungo.

Hello!

After more than a week, I finally have the chance to sit down and post some real thoughts. I apologize for taking so long to send you an update.

I arrived in Uganda last Friday night, safe and sound. Unfortunately, my luggage decided to spend an extra few days in Europe. It worked out, though, because my roommate Kevin is exactly my size and he let me borrow clothes until I was reunited with my wordly possessions (which included clothes and Starbursts candy).

First, I need to introduce you to the people in my new world:

Ilea: Might be the most amazing young woman I have ever met. She is not much older than me, but she is running all of Restore International's work in Uganda. She is well-connected, well-qualified, and all around impressive. Everybody knows her.

Kevin: Kevin is a 3L at Pepperdine. And my housemate.He specializes in Land law. We get along very well because he works hard and plays hard, and knows when to do both. If I lived in California, I hope people would say "You remind me of Kevin." Also, we are the same size.

(NOTE: I'm in a shopping area, and the entire mall just erupted in cheers because the Ugandan soccer team scored a goal. People are crowded around every tv in the mall watching the game. This is legitimately louder than any sporting event I've ever been to, and I'm just sitting in the mall. Awesome.)

Kerry: Kerry is a 2L like me, only she goes to Pepperdine. She's personable and enthusiastic, which is very important for this summer. She is working for Restore this summer helping to draft some proposed anti-trafficking legistlation. She lives in the room next to mine.

Liz: I went to undergrad with Liz. She is about to be a 3L, but she is already doing a lot in the world of international human rights. Liz has been described by those who know her as, "audacious," and that seems fitting to me. She is responsible for me being here this summer.

There's been a little change in what exactly I am doing this summer. I was transferred from the Family Court to the Court of Appeals. Liz, Kevin, and I are working side by side with the justices on certain cases, helping them with research and writing opinions.

The first case I am working on is a constitutional suit brought on behalf of women who are forced to undergo FGM, or female genital mutilation. Google FGM to find out more. The gist of it is that a girl is held down by other women while a woman cuts out her clitoris and parts of her labia. This happens in public in front of a crowd. The women are then sewn shut.

In addition to handling casework, we are also working with the Court of Appeals to help them update how files are kept. We are working to make cases accesible to lawyers, judges, and to the general public. As of now, no one has any way to search modern cases in Uganda. Lawyers just must go off of what they remember or what their registrars (clerks)remember. Hopefully this will be a sustainable project.

My time at the cafe is almost up!


Fact of the day: A mzungo is a white person. People call me mzungo all the time here. It's true. I am a mzungo.

Travel Plans

I'm in Dallas right now, making sure I have everything I need before the trip. Here's how my flight is going to work tomorrow:

Dallas
New Jersey
Belgium
Kenya
Uganda

It's something like a 26 hour travel time. (I'm really hoping that at some point tonight I start to enjoy doing crossword puzzles.) I'll get to Kampala late Friday evening. That means Friday is day one. I'll be able to communicate sometime on Saturday.

All the packing and saying goodbye has me pretty worn out, so I'm gonna go watch a movie and call it a night.

See you on the other side.

You're in the right place...

Hi, folks! I know this page is pretty bare right now, but I will be adding much to it very shortly. Please check back often!