Category: Vigilante Kindness Stories

Christmas Gift in February

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Vigilante Kindness StoriesLeave a comment

I received a Christmas gift last week and the timing was nothing short of perfection.

Last Tuesday night we had our first Vigilante Kindness board meeting.  I’d prepared for it and had a long list of tasks our new board needed to tackle.  I’d worked hard at school the day before to make sure I’d be able to leave on time Tuesday and finish any last-minute preparations.  Every i was dotted, every t was crossed.

Then Tuesday came and it was a TRAIN WRECK.  After being out sick the entire week before, I’d worked hard on Monday and Tuesday to reconnect with my kids, to re-establish classroom routines that had disappeared in the revolving door of substitute teachers that had taken care of my little ones that week.  But Tuesday they were still justifiably on edge, unsettled and undone.  After an exhausting day together, I sent them out the door with hugs and reassurance that I’d be there tomorrow and we’d all try again.

After school, I felt drained of everything, like my tired tongue couldn’t utter a single syllable more. Each time I tried to leave school to go home, a colleague popped their head in my classroom and said, “Got a minute?”  A minute is never a minute, especially when you’re bearing burdens with friends.

I love my colleagues.  They are air and light and my soft place to fall.  I love that they come through my door when life is giving them the one-two punch.  I’ve been there.  I’ve been the bedraggled one walking through their doors, meekly asking for a spare minute.

That evening I pulled into my garage and I had nothing left in my tank. I was bone dry, weary down through the marrow. Even walking across the street to the mailbox felt like a monumental task.  I carried an armload of mail into the house and tossed it on the kitchen counter.

I sat at the counter and looked over the agenda for our first board meeting.  I scanned my pile paperwork and then I put my head down.  It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

I thought of my little ones who sometimes ask to take a minute to put their heads down at their desk, to have a moment of rest and a few seconds to recalibrate.

I sat there with my head down and took a deep breath.  In addition to my exhaustion, I felt a bubble of fear gurgle up from the pit of my stomach.

I knew where that troublesome bubble came from.  It came from the fear of releasing some of the responsibilities of Vigilante Kindness.  It’s my baby, a beautiful bundle of joy of all the people I love here and all the people I love in Uganda.  At the board meeting I’d be handing over pieces of that bundle to Laura and Colin.

I wish you knew Laura and Colin in person.  If you do, count yourself truly fortunate.  They’ve supported Vigilante Kindness from its inception.  They’ve been my cheerleaders and often my sounding boards.

I knew my fear wasn’t about them.  It was about the fact that it was time to unfurl my fingers and hand over pieces of this beautiful work.  I knew it was time with every fiber of my being, but sometimes my heart is slow to follow.  Know what I mean?

So I sat there with my head on top of the pile of mail.  That’s when I saw it, a small package from my friend, Bridgette.  In January Bridgette and I attended a women’s retreat all about striking into areas where God is calling us.  It was in the mountains of that retreat that I knew Vigilante Kindness was growing too big for me, that I alone didn’t have the gifts or talents needed to continue in the great direction Vigilante Kindness is going.  It was humbling and hard to admit and at the same time, it was so good.  The symbol for the retreat was an axe.  You know it’s a hell of a women’s retreat when the symbol is an axe.

I lifted my head from my pile of mail and opened the package.  It was a Christmas card with a note.  My favorite part of the note read, “This was supposed to be to you for Christmas. Oops!  Better late than never.”  Under the card was a little box and inside the box was a silver axe necklace.

IMG_4731-1I put the necklace on and a minute later called our first Vigilante board meeting to order.  Colin and Laura were their eager selves, asking questions, offering up suggestions of things I never would’ve thought of, and oh so patiently walking through all the details with me.

At the end of our meeting, I felt lighter, like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  This is the joy of what my friend Jenna calls creating in community.  I now had Colin and Laura flanking me and opening their arms wide to this incredible work we all get to do together.  The thought gives me goosebumps.

Dear one, maybe you’re like me, a bit of a lone ranger, and a lot reluctant to let other people help you.  Let me say to you with all the love in my heart, let that go.

It’s not what we’re called to do.  Jesus had a posse of twelve, for goodness sake.  If the very Son of God needed people to walk with him, to help do the work, then I think it’s safe to say you and I do, too.

It’s not lost on me that I came to our very first board meeting completely void and running well below empty.  Of course, because, sweet Vigilantes, this work we get to do together isn’t about me.  I’m not sure how many times I’ll have to learn that lesson.

That night under the covers I waited for sleep wearing my new necklace.  The axe rested below the hollow of my throat and I smiled thinking about my late Christmas gift that arrived at the perfect time, a reminder to me to keep following God into this wild adventure, but also reminding me that I’m not alone.

Vigilantes, thank you for your constant and good company.  Now grab your axe because we’re about to swing big.

Leku Ivan’s Heart

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Current Vigilante Kindness Projects, Gulu Artists, Vigilante Kindness StoriesLeave a comment

It’s Monday and you deserve a sweet story.  How about one about Leku Ivan, the painter kid in Uganda who uses the money from his paintings to buy his sister new dresses in the absence of their parents?

Leku Ivan

Last October, Ivan was featured in The Daily Monitor.  Here’s the story:

The paintings of artist Ivan Leku, 19, may not ring a bell on the first look. They may seem like any other paintings, like the ones for decorating our rooms or office walls.
But on closer and careful observation, one gets fascinated with beautiful graphical illustration of the abstract paintings in acrylics.
The paintings send a striking message about the lives of the African street children, of children living a deplorable life, yet covered with jolly faces.

No Ordinary Painting

“This is not just an ordinary painting. I am trying to relay how our children are suffering on the streets,” Leku says. “All these children need is love and care so that they are transformed.”
Leku says from his experience as a street child for more than 10 years, he knows the challenges street children go through. “From my talent as an artist, I think it is worthwhile telling the world about these children through my paintings,” Leku says, adding: “My ambition at the moment is to ensure that the local people and the government take up responsibilities of looking after the street children who could be in possession of good talents.”

Passion for art

Leku says art has been his passion since childhood. He acquired practical art skills from Jinja Art shop, where he had been undergoing training in abstract and landscape paintings.

“Even in my childhood, no one thought I could be an artist. But because I had people around me who believed that art was what can earn me a living, they groomed me and today, they appreciate my skills,” says Leku.

He began commercial painting in 2010.

With Shs400,000, he rented a room in Gulu Town, which serves as his work station.

In order to reduce the rent he pays, he shares the room with two other artists. On how and where he sells his products, Leku says it is mostly at exhibition shows, trade fairs and hotels, targeting mainly foreign customers who seem to be more interested in his art pieces.

He says some of his clients constitute foreigners, who place their orders and have their goods sent to them and the money sent to him through Western Union.

Future plans

Leku says he intends to turn his workshop into a free training class for street children, whose lives, he says, are considered wasted.

“I want these children to learn practical art skills for their future life sustenance,” says Leku.

Those foreign clients who place orders and send money via Western Union?  That’s you, sweet Vigilantes.  You’re making a difference in Ivan’s life.  In turn, he’s sharing his heart and his talent with street kids in Gulu.

Want to buy one of Ivan’s paintings?  Click here to see a handful of his remaining pieces and the paintings of the other artists who share his shop.

Giraffes by Leku Ivan $40 (plus shipping)

These Little Lights of Mine

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Current Vigilante Kindness Projects, Light and Water for Te Okot, Vigilante Kindness StoriesLeave a comment
an elephant grazing in Murchison Park, adjacent to Te Okot
an elephant grazing in Murchison Park, adjacent to Te Okot

The elephants of Te Okot were tromping through my mind today.

A few weeks ago, I received a mini grant that allowed me to purchase 23 solar lights from Unite to Light, the same company I purchased solar lights from last year.

23 more solar lights for Te Okot.

23 solar lights that will not be fire hazards in their huts.

23 solar lights that won’t accidentally set their mosquito nets on fire.

23 solar lights that won’t require families to purchase kerosene and then breathe toxic kerosene fumes.

23 solar lights to keep the wild elephants at bay.

It’s that last one that gives me goosebumps.  You might know the story already, but if not, let me get you up to speed.  The people of Te Okot are sustenance farmers, meaning the food from their gardens is what they eat.  It’s not like there’s a grocery store down the block.

A garden = food = life.

So you can imagine what, quite literally, a large problem it was for the people of Te Okot to have wild elephants come and devour their gardens at night, not to mention the acute fear of having wild elephants trample your hut and your sleeping family inside it.

The solution was an elegant and, for me, an unexpected one.

Solar lights.___1323058761

Now on nights when the elephants come near, the people of Te Okot turn on their lights and place them outside of their huts. Elephants associate light with the lights on the scopes of guns, so when they see the lights, they lumber away, leaving the people of Te Okot and their gardens safe and sound.

All of those things would be enough, more than enough, but, dear ones, this is not a story of just enough.  This is a story of Vigilante Kindness from unexpected places and of a company who shows their heart through their actions.

Last week Unite to Light sent me an email saying that there was a mix up and they’d accidentally shipped another box of 23 lights.  They gave me three choices:

  1. Return the lights and they’d reimburse me for postage.
  2. Buy the lights.
  3. Keep the lights for free and give them to an organization to distribute and then report back to Unite to Light who I gave them to and where the lights will be used.

The idea of sending the lights back broke my heart, but I didn’t have a spare $250 lying around to buy the extra 23 lights either.

Unite to Light gives generously to non-profit organizations all over the world.  We’re not a non-profit, not yet.  So I did the only thing that made sense to me, the same thing I did when I didn’t know how to get clean drinking water for Te Okot.

I told a story.

I wrote back to Unite to Light and told them the story of solar lights and elephants and the people of Te Okot.

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I told them about our little rag-tag organization, Vigilante Kindness, and that we don’t have our official non-profit status yet.  I told them that it would be an incredible gift to bring the extra lights to Te Okot in July, but that I understood completely if they couldn’t do that because of our status.

My email was forwarded to the President of Unite to Light and her response still makes me get all teary-eyed.

Hi, Alicia,

I am so excited about the work that you are doing. I have already promoted you and your website on our Facebook page. (I hope that is OK!)

Your story is so intriguing. I am glad that you will be able to take the extra lights with you and deliver them to the people in Uganda.

You are brightening lives and we thank you.

Sometimes our mistakes work out for the best. Twenty-three more lives will be positively affected with those extras.

Blessings to you for the work you are doing.

I love the line, “Sometimes our mistakes work out for the best.”  I’ll say.

23 46 solar lights for Te Okot.

23 46 solar lights that will not be fire hazards in their huts.

23 46 solar lights that won’t accidentally set their mosquito nets on fire.

23 46 solar lights that won’t require families to purchase kerosene and then breathe toxic kerosene fumes.

23 46 solar lights to keep the wild elephants at bay.

So now when the elephants of Te Okot tromp through my mind, I’ll smile and think of 46 more shining solar lights, peacefully keeping the people, the gardens, and even the wild elephants of Te Okot safe and sound.

a mother and baby in Murchison Park, adjacent to Te Okot
a mother and baby in Murchison Park, adjacent to Te Okot

Want to help bring light to people of Te Okot and the students of Northern Uganda?  Click the PayPal link below.  You could be light number 47.

Vigilante Kindness: Paper Poem Beads

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Paper Bead Jewelry, Vigilante Kindness StoriesLeave a comment

Yesterday I wrote about how God makes beautiful, new things out of old, wrecked things.  What got me to thinking about this in the first place is this little Vigilante Kindness Paper Bead Jewelry Project that’s in the very baby stages.

This project started with a conversation with my friend Denis about his wife, Vickie, and how she wants to be a businesswoman.

Vickie and some other women in Te Okot know how to make paper bead jewelry.  In fact, some of the men, including Denis, know how to make beads, too.  I wanted to bring Vickie a gift the next time I went to Te Okot, so I bought her some jewelry making tools and supplies.

The one thing that had me stumped was where to get the paper.  Slick, shiny, colorful magazine paper would work best, but it’s not like there’s a magazine stand on the corner in or anywhere near Te Okot.  I can think of two bookstores in Gulu.  They carry textbooks, dictionaries and Bibles.

Earlier in my trip, I’d stopped at the stationery store and picked up two blank sheets of poster paper to use in the poetry workshops I was teaching.  The posters were baby blue because that’s the only color the stationery store had and I bought their last two sheets.

I penned George Ella Lyon’s earthen poem Where I’m From on the posters, my handwriting slanting perilously downward as I wrote the words in pungent, permanent black ink.

I took these posters back and forth with me to class, rolled up in my backpack as I rode on the back of a boda to school, then taped with duct tape on the makeshift blackboard and finally rolled back up into my backpack at the end of each class.

By the time the writing workshops came to an end, my posters were covered in chalkdust from all the notes we added on the board around the poems.  The edges of the posters were red with the dust that blew into the classroom and also kicked up underneath the tires of the boda.  They were splattered with mud from puddles of fresh rain and polka-dotted with water spots from the rain itself.

My tattered posters were destined for the trash, that is until I found out that Vickie needed paper for jewelry making.  The posters weren’t the slick, colorful magazine paper that’s best for bead making, but they were what I had.

This seems like a lesson I have to learn over and over again.  What I’ve got to offer is enough, even when it’s tattered and splotched with mud.  It’s enough.

I passed off my poster to Denis who took it home and made beads with Vickie.  By the time I returned home, my mud stained, used up poster had been made into beautiful beads.

paper beadsI love these beads because they’re proof that stained, wrecked things can be made new.  Broken, wrecked people like me can be made new.  That’s another lesson that I have to keep learning.  Maybe the broken, wrecked parts of you need that whispered in the cracks, too.

I love these beads because poetry is tucked into them.  The black parts of the beads are my lopsided scribblings of George Ella Lyon’s gorgeous words.

I love these beads because the lighter parts of the beads are the water spots from a day when I was caught in a rainstorm, drenched down through all the layers of myself.

Most of all, I love these beads because they mean that Vickie and the women of Te Okot get the opportunity to be a businesswomen who are able to earn money and feed and clothe their children.

When I return to Te Okot in July, I’m bringing Vickie a suitcase full of magazines.  Your magazines and my magazines, once destined for the trash, or the recycle bin at best, will be made into jewelry. Second chances never looked so beautiful.

magazines

 

 

Chickens: A New Year’s Resolution

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Unconventional Motherhood, Vigilante Kindness Stories2 Comments

It’s no secret that I hate birds.  I’m talking the fire of a thousand suns kind of hatred.  Just in case you’re thinking my bird loathing isn’t justified, let me send you on a little trip down memory lane to the day a wild turkey chased me to school.

Go ahead, I’ll wait.

See?  I hate birds and they hate me. Fair is fair.

Last summer, with just a few days remaining in Uganda, my three boys set an official meeting with me.  They’d been having “brothers only, no mother” meetings without me for a few days, so when they set this meeting with me my interest was piqued, to say the least.

I’m new to this parenting thing and I was a little nervous.  They’re not biological brothers.  Being brothers is as unfamiliar to them as motherhood is to me.  We’re all still working out the kinks of our unlikely family.

Lanyero and Sons: Otim Geoffrey, Alicia, Oryem William and Opiyo Martin
Lanyero and Sons: Otim Geoffrey, Alicia, Oryem William and Opiyo Martin

The day came for our meeting and we sat outside at a table, drinking pineapple Merinda.  My boys began to speak.  They told me how grateful they are that Terry and I support their schooling and how grateful they are that we do so much for them.  They also told me how difficult it is for them to ask for our help, especially because they know we’re supporting all three of them.

I didn’t have much of a response except to say that I understand how difficult it is to ask for help.  Most days, I’d rather die than admit I need help.

I also told my boys that as their mom, part of my job is to say no when they ask me for things that aren’t in their best interests.  (Right moms?  That’s part of the job, right?  Oh, I’m so new to this.)

They continued, telling me that they’d developed a business plan so that they could begin to pay their own school fees and pay for other necessary items like books, food and clothing.

I took a deep breath.  Young boys with a business plan sounded like bad news to me.  I had “No” ready on my lips.

Then they pulled out photocopies of their business plan and I knew they were serious.  Typing up the plan on a computer and then making copies isn’t that easy when you don’t have access to things like a computer, a copier or regular electricity.

Martin, my middle kid who named me Lanyero, went over their plan in detail and I couldn’t help but giggle.

My boys had created a beautiful business plan to start a chicken farm.

A chicken farm, proof positive that God has a wicked sense of humor.

They even named it: Lanyero and Sons Broilers.

Lanyero means “joyful”.  The literal translation means “laughter”.  And, Lord have mercy, did I cackle at the thought of starting a chicken farm in Northern Uganda.

What brings me joy about their plan is that they want to tithe a portion of their chickens and eggs to local organizations that take care of people with disabilities, widows, and orphaned babies and children.

My formerly orphaned boys want to help care for orphans.

And just like that my heart melted.

So as people around me are making New Year’s resolutions to get healthy, get organized, get out of debt, I-the girl who is petrified of all things feathered-am making plans to get chickens.

Wanna help make the chicken farm come to fruition?  Here's your chance.