Melody & Harmony

He said, "I often feel as though I'm trying to harmonize with everyone around me. I have a hard time making my own melody."

What I didn't say was, "I'm the maestro of melody, and I need your harmony."

What I should have said, "Let's share, and I'll try to harmonize more and conduct less."

All I know is that we make beautiful, sweet music, even if it hits a discordant note or two on its way to perfection.

Given a Day

Most days, there comes a time that I think about a time that has not come yet. Planning. Thinking about me. Then, it's about this time, that I realize how utterly selfish this concept is. Then I plan some more.

Some days, I think things are finite and just as they are. Really, it's our nature, ain't it? Grab onto any sense of stability. Hold firm. Hold the line of fire. Then I fire my day job and get a night job.

Other days, I almost think I got it down pat. This concept of living. Then I stub my toe and realize that there just isn't one perfect way to live.

This day, I thought about change. I thought about making it, saving it, watching it, commentating on it. And then I decided to change my necklace to a scarf.

I took a walk, but it changed me.

Scrawled on a Napkin

I found this scrawled on a napkin in a box in my closet:

Music man preaches from his four-legged pulpit
A sermon of years old, words left untold
Constructed of past reflections
Progression and Imperfections

Messages crafted in the minds of worn hands
Melody's ancient connection to the divine
Time's joy and frustration in a line

Jar of Fireflies

This is the poetry I find constantly coming into and out of me:

"In Science, the past is constantly conversing with the future."
"Flour your hands."
"Life is a sin wave."
"We are living in a plastic cage, just like that parrot."
"... with an emphasis on haiku."
"When you think of me, think of vests."
"You don't have to be rude for us to notice you."
"I unknowingly misinformed you and I'm sorry."
"I can feel my whole body tense."
"And that's when I picked a flower."
"Is your father dead? - Yes."
"Prisoner of God."

Finding Truth in Strange Places

Oh, how I've been home, and been in my mind this past month of life.

Doubtless, it has been so strange... so, so strange to not be living in Uganda. I miss it. I miss feeling like I was really growing and learning every day. I miss coming home to a household of 30. I miss not doing homework.

But, as it goes, I am here and living this life.

I'm a control freak. I've found a way to restrict this drive in my life to only being a control freak over myself. Sadly, my life is so string-less, there isn't even one to grab for. Yes, today I have a home, two cats, college classes, a swimming regiment, and books to read. Come May, well, maybe I have a parents' home to move into. Maybe I have many jobs to apply for. Maybe I have a year of substitute teaching and night-time-waitressing waiting for me.

Oh my, it is just so hard to face the music of, "Well, yes you've wanted to be a high school English teacher for six years, and that's what you've dedicated most of your time to learning to become, but there just may not be a job out there for you." Oh, the feeling is something like drowning, I suppose.

I know that I'm up to the challenge, and I know that I've got the strength of seventy mighty oxen in my determination. And I know that I'm decisive, always have been, and always will.

In other news, I've been working on my new inspired desire to be upfront and honest with my feelings - be they good or bad for others. I've found that many people aren't quite used to people being so blatant. They prefer for people to trivialize their own emotions to keep the fragile balance of everyone feeling "okay" and not feeling "bad." Well, I've never grown too much out of thinking that everyone agreed with me and that I could do as I pleased and they'd just suck it up and accept it. Though I found that I respect this in others from interacting with my boss in Uganda, apparently it may not be the same for others.

All I can say is that I want to tell you exactly what I'm feeling, but I don't want to hurt you. I just want to be as close to the truth with you as with me. And I want your truth, too.

Let us all find the truth, whether it stings, hurts, overjoys, or just passes by without a care. Let us share it and fill it with our voices. And let us respect it. Let us find it more important than an unwarranted smile.

With a lot of thought in the head,

Karen

The Meeting of Two Eternities

As I reclined on my twin-sized foam mattress, wooden slats now making themselves known due to the presence of my body's weight for the past two months, I began to recount the grand moments that have been my joy to experience over these past few months and to contemplate the coming weeks. In many ways, it was a moment that was infused with the essence Thoreau describes in the chapter "Economy" in Walden:

In any weather, at any hour of the day or night, I have been anxious to improve the nick of time, and notch it on my stick too; to stand on the meeting of two eternities, the past and future, which is precisely the present moment; to toe that line.

I was in that present moment, there on "my" bed, listening to the music coming from my friend Catherine's room and the chatter of women in the other room. The light pouring in... yet I was recognizing the recent past that had brought me to that moment and the coming future that would take me away from it.

My thoughts were simply streaming in and out of my consciousness; I was enjoying the simple act of thinking about me... exercising my intrapersonal intelligence as Gardener would call it.

The thoughts ran much like this:

My first days in Uganda:

• Sleeping in a hostel
• Seeing a school in Kampala
• Going to Bavubuka
• Learning of my co-workers

My first days in Gulu:

• Orienting
• Eating Acholi food
• Feeling Alone
• Getting used to being a "munu"
• Solo lunches and strolls
  

The Arrival of Group 2:

• Holding hands with Raysa when I first met her
• Intellectual conversations over pizza with Rebecca and Sarah
• Dancing a great deal

My work for IC:

• Making copies at the copier
• Shopping for food for the camps
• Keeping track of attendance
• Blowing off steam about co-workers
• Bringing in cookies
• The summation packet
• Active strategies packet
• Leading roundtable discussions at four schools
• Being a part of roundtable discussions
• Filming for the mission video for IC
• Making schedules
• Registering individuals for the conference
  

General memories of Gulu & Uganda:

• The kindness of Catherine and Danielle
• Understanding Acholiland better each day
• Marveling at the infinite bend of the sky on a sunny day
• Boda ride through a eucalyptus forest
• Dinner with Senith, an Acholi friend of Catherine's
• Inspiring conversations with Catherine
• Dancing with Raysa
• Flavia helping me in the market
• My seamstress's beauty and lovely attitude (and amazing clothing)
• Getting sprayed with mud by a car
• The most majestic safari
• The most relaxing rhino sanctuary
• Rebecca singing songs and playing the guitar
• Pablo being carried like a baby on Joe's back
• "Quiz Night"
• Our first dance as the Teacher Exchange
• Always prepared, incredibly bad for you food
• The incredible friendship of Jennifer
• Meeting Jolly at her house, and an unforgettable bonfire and story-time
• Watching the Acholi version of musical chairs (sans chairs)
• Finding American Food
• Getting beans, rice, and coffee for the equivalent of $1.50
• Being asked for my hand in marriage at least once per week
• The police showing up and unloading six guns on our front porch
• Playing many games with my roommates
• Dancing with Kevin and friends at Mother Theressa's Boarding School / Children's Home
• A small girl putting my glasses on upside down at St. Jude's
• Having no idea what to do with 15 babies at St. Jude's
• The sound of drumming in the distance
• The Acholi yell
• The infinite stars
• The rains, the rains, the rains

When I come home:

• Much love for my parents!!!!!!!
• A hot shower
• Healthy foods that are not just raw vegetables
• Retelling the tale too many times I'm sure
• A few days in NYC with my Uncle and Auntie
• Seeing Joshua in Chicago!
• Slam poetry in Chicago!
• Home with the cats and unpacking
• Chilling with Crystal
• Seeing Spoofy and Paige
• Hopefully going backpacking for two days with Nick
• Maybe a bit of a shindig
• Going with Joshua to Tennessee
• Beginning a new semester
• New outlooks in my education from my summer experience
• Having my field study in a middle school

At some point, I dozed off. I can't remember when. Yet, outside the present moment of the hall light, the light chatter, the stagnant air room, the music, and my heartbeat, my mind was traveling long distances in time.

This may just count as time-travel, my friends. At least, it does for me.

Thinky, thinky, thinky,

Karen

Being Other

“Munu!”

“Munu! Munu! Munu!”

“Munu, bye! Munu, bye!”

“Munu, you give me that.”

“Munu, you give me 1,000 shillings.”

It began sweet and endearing enough. The first weeks, I did not mind being identified as munu. It was simply the way the population around here got my attention. They were not afraid to speak to me, address me, and joke with me. Yet, the word munu always was spoken in these casual interactions.

Currently, in my last week in Gulu, I am still made joyful when small children yell out “Munu!” in excitement and come to shake my hand. They throw any English greeting at me that they can think of in a hurry, and it’s adorable. Though, the children I pass between home and work (a whopping 500 meters), tend to yell joyously, “Munu, bye!” Though I know what they are trying to say, I cannot help but realize that yes, most white people never seem to stay for long… so might as well say goodbye before even saying hello.

As these past few months pushed onward, I found myself beginning to have one prime desire:

Please, just let me be a human being.

I am constantly reminded that I am not Acholi, that I am not part of this community, that I am different and always will be. Everyone who passes me on the street or greets me first sees the color of my skin. In there eyes, I often do not feel like the dynamic, multi-layered human being that I am. I feel that they make assumptions about me from the minute the see my skin color parading across the road. I feel that they see a large dollar sign sometimes, sometimes they see someone who is there to help in any way, sometimes I feel they see just an interesting attraction to stare at for a few moments as they pass the time. There eyes are always on me (and this is true; it really is not impolite in any way to stare here). I slip in the mud and an entire block of people bursts out in laughter.

I have tried to connect this feeling to the minorities in my community. I have wondered if I, indeed, have at times seen the color of someone’s skin before the vibrancy of their heart. Though I will never know what it feels like to be a minority in the place where I live, I do have a better idea of what it feel like to be other now. I must admit that being here, it is blaringly obvious that I do not come from anywhere near here; in the United States, I feel that many of us have realized that though someone’s skin color is different, they are just as likely to have been born where you are standing as you are.

Overall, I would not say this feeling of otherness has greatly affected my attitude and time here. Yet, it has been inescapable, and I do long for the time in the United States when I do not constantly feel like the odd-one-out.

Looking forward to being with all you munus,
Karen