Tag: Te Okot

Dominoes and Tractors

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Vigilante Kindness Stories3 Comments

At this very moment, I sit writing by the Nile, the Albert Nile stretching out mere steps away in front of me. The river is glass, hiding crocodiles and hippos, a whole underwater world of hungry life. The rain has gathered in the river, engorging her, bringing the banks higher than I’ve seen before. Tiny dragonflies flit all around me and I can’t help but think of dominoes when I think of the path that led me to this moment, sitting at the feet of the teeming river. 
I’m amazed at the way things play out, the way life unfolds like a curving line of dominoes, one domino tipping and then colliding into the next and the next and the next. I’ve never been any good at setting up domino mazes. I’m too impatient and I can’t ever seem to get the spacing or the angles right.

Yesterday I returned to Te Okot to check on the well, to deliver 46 more solar lights and to meet with the elders and community about next steps for building a school for the children of Te Okot. On the way to Te Okot I passed the village of Got Apwoyo. “Got” is the Lwo word for mountain and “apwoyo” means either “rabbit”, “hello”, or “thank you” depending on intonation and context. Got Apwoyo the village is named for Mount Rabbit, but each time I pass the Got Apwoyo sign, I’m can’t help but think of a mountain of thanks.

This year Got Apwoyo has taken on a truly special meaning.

When I returned to Te Okot, I was so eager to see all the people I’d come to love last year. I was excited to see the well still pumping out fresh, clean, healthy drinking water and I was glad to deliver a second round of solar lights.

But in the pit of my stomach I was nervous at telling the group I’d not yet found a suitable organization to build their children a school and that I’d not raised nearly enough money to even begin such a project. 

 In the same way I believe that all people should have access to healthy water, I believe all children should have access to education. There aren’t public schools in Uganda, even the schools built by the government charge school fees.

 Though I’m careful not to make promises I can’t keep and I hadn’t promised Te Okot a school, a large part of me felt like I’d failed them. As if any of this is about me or depends on anything I do. Really my feeling like a failure was quite arrogant.

While I was lost in doubt, God was smiling and setting up lines of dominoes. Isn’t that the best news? In times of failure, God is delighting in unfolding a plan we can’t even begin to see. 

After tramping through the bush to see the well, I returned to the community meeting, sat with my shoes off on a papyrus mat next to the Lapyem, the musee of Te Okot.
 After roll call, Lapyem began the meeting, greeting my mom, Denis, Bitek and I.  

 Then it was my turn to speak. I took out my small notebook and in a quivering voice, I read the speech Olive, the daughter of my language teacher, had helped me write.

Apwoyo ludiro magitikany, ki apwoyo Lubanga me ripowa. Bed ma cwing wu tek. Pyen Lubanga ti ked wu. An bene wiya pe wil i kum wu. Pol kare ka amaro pi, atamo pi wu. Cwinya yom pyen wu tiki pi maleng, maber pi yot kum. Anyeyo ni lyec dong pe ka yelowu pyen mac tye. Amarowu matek. Apwoyo.

Greetings to the elders. I thank God for bringing us together again. God is still with you and you are always in my heart. Whenever I drink water, I always remember you. I’m happy because you have clean water, which is good for your health. I hope the elephants aren’t disturbing you anymore because you have lights. I love you all very much. Thank you.

The people at the community meeting were very gracious and this time I didn’t even need someone else to translate my attempt at Lwo into real Lwo. Phew!
During the meeting, we revisited the three needs of Te Okot from last year: water, a school, and a medical facility. I braced myself to bring the news that we were far away from building a school.

That’s when Francis, a mechanic and the brother of Lapyem, stood and reported. He said that what they really need most is a tractor. A tractor would allow their children to go to school and also prevent many of the health issues they’re facing. 

 A tractor??? A tractor would do all of that?

I asked Francis to tell me more.

Over the last year, parts of Uganda have been divided into different subcounties. Got Apwoyo and Te Okot were rezoned into a subcounty called the Got Apwoyo Subcounty. Te Okot was included in this redivision because Te Okot now has a source of healthy drinking water. To think that the well was one of the influencing factors in allowing Te Okot to become part of the new subcounty blows my mind.

The important thing about becoming a part of a subcounty is that the government can’t have subcounties without schools or access to medical care. So now that the villages of Te Okot and Got Apwoyo have been designated together to form Got Apwoyo Subcounty, the government will have to build a school and a medical care facility.

I tried to remain calm on the mat, but I was flooded with excitement and relief. I know nothing about building a school. Less than nothing.

 Francis continued explaining that their land is too difficult to farm using hand tools. I nodded emphatically. I’ve walked to the well enough times to know that the hard ground, sloping terrain and lush bush are monumental obstacles. Plus there are those pesky elephants who eat whatever they please.

 I still wasn’t understanding how a tractor would help with the issues of education and health, so Francis continued. If they had a tractor, they could farm and grow enough food to not go hungry, eliminating many health problems related to starvation. Plus a tractor would allow them to grow food crops to feed their families and cash crops to sell at the market, so they could earn and save money to pay for their children’s school fees when the government school is built.

“So instead we want to the government take care of building a school and a hospital and we want you to partner with us in buying a tractor so that we can take care of our families.”

I nodded my head vehemently, in complete agreement, but still Francis continued.

“From the time we first know ourselves until we are old like that musee, we work the fields, from morning to night and morning to night again, but still we grow only enough to eat and not always enough. Our poverty is deep and if we had a tractor, we’d be free.”

If we had a tractor, we’d be free.

Even now I get a lump in my throat from those words.

I marveled at the simple, yet elegant solution.

A tractor.

I listened as Francis continued speaking, asking questions when needed, but mostly just listening. As I listened I realized that Francis thought he needed to convince me, that the reputation of mzungus is to come in with our own plans, to splash our names all over new school buildings and pat ourselves on the back. The ego of it all turns my stomach and makes my heart sick.

I listened until Francis was finished. Then I stood and told the group, “I’m so relieved not to have to build a school! I don’t know anything about building schools! You know my only talent is writing stories. I don’t know anything about tractors either, but I know that you do. I think a tractor is a wonderful solution. I’ll bring it to my board and to our donors, but I think buying Te Okot a tractor is very possible. I’m so glad you felt comfortable telling me your new plan. We want to be an organization that listens to what you need to help you solve real problems.”

Denis translated for me and the relief that washed over the faces of the people I love in Te Okot was remarkable. There was a little more discussion amongst members about various kinds of tractors and my mom even spoke to the community. 

 Then I passed out a suitcase full of solar lights and sat on the papyrus mat, cuddling babies, hugging and shaking hands with a throng of adults, and doing my best to gracefully accept all the thanks pouring from their mouths.

  As Bitek drove us away from Te Okot and toward the place we’d stay at the bank of the Albert Nile, I sat in shock. A tractor. I don’t know anything about buying tractors, but then again I didn’t know anything about digging wells either and we all know how that turned out.

Vigilantes, my arms are prickling with goosebumps, waiting to see exactly what God is going to do next, waiting to see a new line of dominoes fall perfectly into place. 

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: Bringing Light, Water and Love to Te Okot

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Light and Water for Te Okot, Vigilante Kindness Stories5 Comments

Sweet Vigilantes of Kindness, I know you’ve been waiting to hear all about the well in Te Okot.

I wasn’t quite sure how to tell the final chapter of this story.  A blog post wouldn’t be enough.  A digital picture album wouldn’t suffice.

So on my eleven hour flight from Cairo to New York, I taught myself to use iMovie.  Really, why not teach myself something new on long flight in a spacious and extremely comfortable airplane seat, right?

The movie is about 15 minutes long and isn’t professional by any stretch of the imagination, but I like that you get to go with me to see the finished well for the first time and you get to hear straight from the mouths of the people at Te Okot just what this well and the gift of solar lights mean to them.

So grab a big glass of clean drinking water and settle in for another great story of Vigilante Kindness.

 

Vigilante Kindness: Te Okot, Part 3

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Light and Water for Te Okot, Vigilante Kindness StoriesLeave a comment

If you’re just joining the story of Te Okot, read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

I swore to myself I’d never ride a boda boda out to Te Okot or anywhere else that far away again.

And yet yesterday morning I found myself on the back of Bitek’s sport bike.  The knobby tires made quick work of the slick mud that is half of the road to Te Okot.  All hope I had of arriving to the village in any sort of tidy condition was quickly taken care of by the skunk stripe of mud up my back and the mud splattering my face.  The road was so rough that every tooth nearly rattled out of my head.  My shoes were slick with mud and my feet were full of pins and needles from sitting in the same position for such a long time.  My feet kept slipping from the foot pegs, so that I burned a nice commemorative quarter-sized exhaust pipe tattoo above my right ankle. And we’ll just not even go into the condition of my hind quarters, which are still not speaking to me for the atrocities I committed against them by taking a boda out to Te Okot and back, not once, but twice in a single week.

Mud stripes, exhaust pipe burns, rattled teeth and a tush that will probably be on permanent strike-all of those minor inconveniences pale, pale, pale in comparison to hardship of living without drinkable water.  And for me, those minor pains couldn’t hold a candle to the hope I held that when Bitek surveyed the land, he’d find a viable place to drill for water.

Water.  Beautiful, clean, healthy water.

We reached Bungatira and I laughed when Denis greeted me by shouting,

“Acureque!”  (I have no idea how to spell that word.) In Acholi, it means something like, “You’ve kept me waiting!”

It’s our joke because each time Denis would pick me up, I’d put my hands on my hips, furrow my brow and shout, “Acureque!”  Then as we pulled away, we’d break into peals of laughter at the shocked faces of the surrounding Acholis who were stunned to hear a Muzungu shouting in Acholi.

So when Denis shouted it at me, I broke into a wide grin and hopped off Bitek’s bike, almost falling on my face because my feet, legs and rear had all conspired revenge upon me.  I regained my balance and hugged Denis hard, trying not to wince at how thin he’s grown, trying not to think of how little food he and his family have had access to lately.

After introductions, Denis led us inside his hut, which he’d worked hard to expand this week just so we could come inside and have a place to sit.

We sat inside drinking lukewarm bottled soda that Denis had purchased for just this occasion. Men and women and children entered the hut and greeted us, some staying and sitting with us, others shaking hands and returning to the hard work of life.

After a sufficient amount of rest in the hut, we tromped through the compound and through the bush to the water source.  Everyone followed us, except some of the women who were tending to the littlest children and the people who were too old to make the trek.  Men, women, children all trailed the Musee, Bitek and I.  We were quite the parade of people.

Bitek and I snapped photos, he for documentation of the project and me for the joy of it, for the sheer delight I took in this community expedition in search of the best place to mine water.  Bitek stopped several times examining the rocks and dirt, fingering the soil for moisture content, peering into the roasting pit at the stratospheric layers of the ground.We spent quite a bit of time at the current water source and snapped a handful of photos of Agnes filling her jerrican full of the dank water.

I shuddered thinking of sweet Aber drinking that water and felt a pang of sadness stab at my heart because just minutes earlier as we’d walked down the path, Agnes had leaned into me and whispered, “If you can’t take Olarra, take Aber.”  The desperation in her voice to give her children a chance at a healthier, educated life gripped me and I blinked back tears and told her I can’t take her children.

After Bitek surveyed the water hole we marched back up the hill. Bitek took several small side excursions off of the trail to examine all of the possibilities and then to cross some of them off because they were in the direct path of the elephants, who had trampled the tall grasses so flatly that it looked like large trucks had motored through.We paused under a large tree and Bitek declared that this would be the first drilling site.  If the well construction team reachedundrillable rock, they’d move further down the hill and drill at a second site.We finished tromping up the hill to where the rest of the community had gathered on mats in the shade of a large tree.  There were four chairs set in the front: one for Musee, one for me, one for Bitek and one for Denis.  As I went to sit in the chair beside Musee, Bitek pointed to the mats, “Women sit on the ground.”  He was half joking and half informing me of the culture.  I replied that I’d sit wherever the Musee asked me to.  Musee was quick to respond to Bitek, “Alicia sits in the chair beside me.”

 

Denis spoke briefly, followed by the Musee.  Then it was my turn to speak.  I told the group how I’d done what I’d promised, I’d written their story and indeed people had responded.  I told them about how my little brother was spearheading money collection at home and they broke into applause and asked me to pass along their joyful thanks.  I told them how I’d placed a call to Bitek, the only person I know who knows how to build wells.Then I turned it over to Bitek who told them all the details of their coming well.  He told them about the well site and why he’d chosen it and about how the construction team trains the community members to repair and upkeep the well.  He told them about their responsibility to feed and house the construction team while the well was being built.  They had many questions and he answered each one with care.When would construction begin?

In one week after the construction team finishes building a well in the town of Sorotti.

How long would it take?

Two weeks.

How many community members would they train to keep the well in working order?

As many as want to be trained.

Would they leave them the appropriate tools to maintain the well?

Repair of well only requires the use of one wrench.  I nodded emphatically when Bitek asked if I was including the purchase of the wrench with the well.

Would there be a possibility for the men they train to go out and build wells for them?

Yes, they take workers from each past well construction site to build wells at the new sites.

If there’s any money left over from the building of the well, could it go into their community microloan treasury?

My heart did a happy flip-flop at that and I answered, “Yes, definitely yes.”

When the questions had all been answered, we moved on to discussing the solar lights. One of the community members thanked me for the lights because he no longer has to buy and burn paraffin in his hut.  Denis told me that for the past two nights the wild elephants had come through the compound and when the people put their lights out, the elephants moved away.  Another member timidly asked if there were any lights still left because some of them had been sowing seeds for crops during the last meeting and didn’t receive a light.  Again I answered, definitely yes.

As the meeting drew to a close, one of the members spoke to Bitek in Acholi.  Bitek laughed and turned to me, “You’re building them a medical clinic next?”

“No, I don’t know anything about building a medical clinics, Bitek.”

Patrick, one of teenagers of Te Okot, spoke up, “Yes, Alicia, but you don’t know anything about building wells either.”  He smiled at me with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Good point, Patrick.”

Then it was time to say goodbye and get back on the dreaded boda boda.  My lower half protested as soon as I sat down.  After an hour on the motorcycle, Bitek and I stopped for a late lunch in the town of Annaka.  He ate goat.  I had beans and potatoes.

We talked about the other wells Bitek has built and then the conversation turned back to Te Okot.  “It’s going to be hard for them to get enough food to feed us.  Maybe you could buy the food and their contribution could be preparing it for us?”  Bitek suggested between bites of goat.

“Of course.  Just tell me what and how much to buy and where to buy it.”

After lunch, I told Bitek that I simply could not, could not, could not get back on the boda.  I was in too much pain so I would either walk the 52 kilometers back to Gulu, find a car to take me or, if necessary, take up residence in Annaka.

To my delight, Bitek found a taxi taking four other well-dressed women to Gulu.  It was leaving right then and for 10,000 shillings (roughly $4) I bought a seat in the taxi, a banged up Honda Accord.  Dear ones, let me tell you that may be the best four bucks I’ve ever spent.

Bitek insisted on following the taxi back to Gulu to make sure I made it there safely.  As I drifted in and out of sleep to the sound of the happy chatter of the women in the car with me, my rear end gave thanks for small things like taxis to Gulu and my heart gave thanks for larger things like glorious, clean water.

Got Apwoyo?

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Light and Water for Te Okot, Vigilante Kindness StoriesLeave a comment

I set a meeting with Bitek, my Acholi friend who digs wells, for nine in the morning.  So at ten o’clock Bitek arrives.

We sit out on the patio in front of the hotel, sipping hot tea.  He tells me a little about his trip from Sorotti.  It took him all of last night and all of the morning to reach here.  We talk a bit about his younger brother, whom we both adore, and then I show him the photos of the water source of Te Okot.

“They’re drinking this, Bitek.”

“It’s no good,” he agrees.

“What would it take to get them a well?”  I brace myself to hear the improbable, if not the impossible.  My thread of faith is thin, but it’s a thread nonetheless and I can’t sleep at night knowing that a lack of clean water is killing the people of Te Okot.

“I’d need to go out and survey the land first, but once we found a water source, then we’d start drilling.”

“How long would that take?  And how much would it cost?”  I gulp hot tea too quickly and it steams down my throat.

“It takes two weeks and costs one thousand five hundred dollars.”

“What???  One thousand five hundred dollars?”

Relief floods my face and I feel flushed with the possibility of clean, drinkable water. For Denis and his family.  For Mama & Musee.  For Michael and Onen and Patrick and their wives and children.  For Agnes and Olarra and sweet, baby Aber.

Water.

The word overwhelms me, becomes the thump of my heart hidden deep inside my chest.

Wa-ter, wa-ter, wa-ter.

I think of the people of Te Okot and how when I asked them to prioritize among a school, a medical clinic and water, they shouted, “Pii!  Pii!  Pii!”  Water!  Water!  Water!

Bitek continues.  “The community is responsible for feeding the workers while we are there.  Then we train 2-3 men on how to maintain the well so that when parts need replacement, they can do it themselves instead of relying on us.”

I love this plan so much that I narrowly resist the urge to tackle Bitek, to drown him in gangly hugs that are far too tight and far too long.

“What’s your schedule like?  I mean, when could you start?”  I can barely remain in my seat.

“We could go survey the site tomorrow and then we just have to finish the well in Sorotti.  After that we have no wells to dig.  Our timeline is empty.”

“Really???”  It comes out as a squeal.

I place a quick call to Denis to make sure tomorrow is okay.  He confirms that it is and thanks me more times than I can count.

Bitek asks about my mom and I take the stairs two at a time until I reach her door.  I’m breathless and don’t even wait for her to open the door.  I shout the good news about the possibility of water through her door.

The word pulses through my veins now.

Waterwaterwwaterwaterwaterwwaterwaterwater.

After a few minutes of visiting with my mom, Bitek leaves us with the promise to pick me up at eight the next morning.  I’ll be ready at eight.  He will likely arrive at nine and then we’ll ride his boda boda three hours to Te Okot to survey the land, to look for signs of water hidden deep within the heart of the land.

There’s a road sign on the way to Te Okot that says Got Apwoyo.  The literal translation of Apwoyo is ‘rabbit’, but it’s also the word for ‘hello’ and most importantly it’s the word for ‘thanks’.  Got means ‘mountain’.  So while the sign is really a marker for Mt. Rabbit, I can’t help but think that the sign is asking me, “Got thanks?”

Power has gone out again and in the darkening night I pray for the heart of the land of Te Okot to run deep with water.  And then I think of that road sign and pray that my heart will run deep with gratitude.  Got Apwoyo, indeed.