Tag: Uganda

Drinking the Nile

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Other Stories from Uganda5 Comments

On one of the last days in Uganda, my friend Colin & I rafted the Nile.  THE NILE!  Let me just say from the get go that it was as cool as it sounds.

One of the best things about my time in Uganda were all the amazing people I met.  Around every corner there were people with fascinating stories and our rafting trip was no exception.  Meet the players:

Papa Bear, Mama Bear and Baby Bear were in Uganda working with AIDS orphans.  I can only remember Baby Bear’s real name: Eva.  Incidentally Eva is afraid of water and extreme sports.  She also has extremely poor eyesight and didn’t wear her glasses.

Next up was our terrific guide, Tuutu, pronounced tutu, although he didn’t seem overly thrilled when I told him his name was also the name of a pink tulle ballet skirt.  After we survived each rapid, we’d all put the tips of our paddles in the middle of the raft and lift them up with a hearty, “Team Tuutu!”, which I believe is the Lugandan translation for ‘Hooray, nobody died!’

Johan, a Finnish Red Cross worker, was also in our raft.  He was in Uganda helping people recover from the massive mudslides there.  He also wore a Speedo, so he’s daring in lots of ways.

Rounding out our boat was Canadian Rob who was spending a long holiday traveling the length of Africa.  Johan and Rob would have been thrilled had our raft capsized in every rapid.  Such boys.

After lunch a pair of Turkish doctors, Turkish Neurologist and Turkish Pediatrician, joined in the fun, but more on that later.

After learning paddle commands and what to do if the raft capsized, we were off.  The Nile was beautiful and to my delight we didn’t see a single crocodile or hippo.  We came upon our first rapid, a 3 meter drop down a waterfall, which is as scary and thrilling as it sounds.  I’m the one with the big grin on my face, fourth from the front.

We paddled down the Nile enjoying calm spots in between lots of Class 4 and 5 rapids.  The funniest part was when we’d approach the rapids, Papa Bear and Mama Bear would describe what the rapids looked like to Baby Bear Eva, who couldn’t see anything beyond the raft.  I’m not sure if their descriptions assuaged her fears or not, but it made for good entertainment in between Tuutu’s commands of, “Paddle, paddle, paddle!!!” or my favorite “Get down!” which meant get down in the boat, hold on for dear life and try not to pee your pants.  It’s quite a mouthful really.  I can see why Tuutu went for the much simpler “Get down!”

Under Tuutu’s excellent guidance I was having an amazing time.  The rapids were really spectacular.  We even saw a tree full of giant bats take to the sky.  Along the shores people fished and went about their daily business.

Prior to my trip, I met with a travel nurse with lots of good advice, but mostly she reminded me not to drink the water.  Don’t drink it.  Don’t brush your teeth with it.  Keep your mouth closed in the shower.  I did all those things vigilantly.  And then I rafted the Nile.

In the middle of the trip we stopped for a delicious lunch and sadly, the Bear family and Finnish Johan only signed up for a half day of rafting and so we said goodbye.  They were replaced with two rafters from another boat, Turkish Neurologist and Turkish Pediatrician, also known as Ahmed and Assad.  After asking a few times I still wasn’t clear on who was who.  Turkish Neurologist knew a little bit of English, which is far more Turkish than I know, and when he said “Turkey Neurologist and Turkey Pediatrician”, I entertained brief thoughts of doctors performing brain surgery on turkeys and taking care of tiny poultry.  My waterlogged brain discerned that perhaps they were doctors from Turkey instead.  So disappointing.  The doctors were a perfectly lovely addition, even if the language barrier meant that they didn’t always understand when to paddle.

As the trip drew closer to an end, we faced one more class 5 rapid.  Much to Canadian Rob’s delight we flipped.  Big time.

Colin and Turkish Neurologist were bounced around so much in the rapid and ended up so far away from the raft that they had to be scooped up by the rescue kayakers on standby.  When the raft capsized, I found myself underneath it briefly which is not ideal in calm waters, let alone a churning class 5.  I kicked my way out from underneath the raft and grabbed onto the rope lining the side of the now upside down raft.

In between getting dunked by the rapids, I spotted Turkish Pediatrician and, there’s really no other way to say this, he was FREAKING OUT!  I’m not sure he knew how to swim and the poor guy kept getting submerged and he was on the brink of hyperventilating.  His ‘Doctor In An Emergency Mode’ didn’t kick in, but to my surprise my ‘Teacher Mode’ did.  It’s the same mode that kicks in when I’m making sure all 30 of my little ones are accounted for on field trips.  I held onto the raft with one hand and did a one-handed doggy paddle with the other.  I paddled over to him and grabbed his hand pulling him to the raft, where he grabbed onto the rope next to me.  Canadian Rob popped up on the rope on the other side of Turkish Pediatrician and I couldn’t help but laugh at the huge grin spread across Rob’s face.  Finally we’d capsized and he was thrilled!  Turkish Pediatrician was not.  He was still panicking.  So I held onto the rope with one hand and patted his back with the other.  “It’s okay.  You’re okay.” I told him in between getting slammed by the raft and the water.

Our fearless guide Tuutu, clambered on top of the raft and clipped one end of the strap to the raft and the other end to himself. We’d practiced this in the morning.  Tuutu was going to jump off the raft, effectively flipping it right side up.  Tuutu yelled down at us, “Let go of the rope!”  Canadian Rob and I let go and swam a few feet away.  Turkish Pediatrician maintained his death grip on the rope.  I paddled back to him.  “You have to let go.  Tuutu’s going to flip the boat.”  Turkish Pediatrician shook his head.  And so I peeled his claws off the rope myself and grabbed the back of his life jacket and swam away with him.

Tuutu flipped the raft and helped us all back in.  After we cleared the rapid, the kayakers deposited Colin and Turkish Neurologist back into our boat and we all put our paddles and gave a hearty “Team Tutuu!”  After which Colin and I high-fived because hooray-nobody died!

After the end of the trip we stopped for a delicious BBQ where we relived the glory of the day.  In bed that night I prayed that drinking the Nile wouldn’t come back to haunt me and then I swam into my dreams with a huge grin on my face.

Freedom Falls

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Other Stories from Uganda5 Comments

I’ve been home a little over a day now.  To get home I passed through five airports and flew on four different airplanes before my hubs drove me the last leg home.

I flashed my passport through countless screenings and talked with several new friends on the planes home.  Each time someone discovered that I’d spent the month in Uganda, they’d ask two questions.

“What were you doing there???”  I’d tell them about helping 50 or so kids write a book about pivotal moments in their lives.  We’d have a brief conversation about the kids and their writing and without fail they’d ask the second question.

“So how is Uganda doing?”  This question was often times paired with a gulp and a brow wrinkled with equal parts fear and worry.

I loved this question.  It’s one of the reasons I took this journey to begin with.  I wanted to see how Uganda and her people were doing.  I wanted to hear and help record firsthand stories from her children.

The best way I can answer the question of how Uganda is doing is to tell you a story about two waterfalls in Uganda.

Murchison Falls

This is Murchison Falls.  It’s a mere seven meters wide and at one point in time the whole of the Nile had to pass through this narrow gap.  It is staggeringly beautiful, but make no mistake, Murchison Falls is a crashing, thundering force to be reckoned with.  Living beings who have the misfortune of falling into the crevice of the falls do not resurface again until the water has suffocated all of the life and breath out of them.

In 1962 Uganda was granted freedom from Britain.  This may surprise you because even Uganda’s most recent history is marred by dictatorial leaders and bloodthirsty warlords, not to mention the corruption that has taken root and entwined itself around the hearts of most of Uganda’s politicians.  But indeed on January 15, 1962 Uganda was declared an independent country.

Another surprising thing happened in Uganda in 1962.

It rained.

Hear me out, during the wet season, it rains a lot in Uganda.  Almost daily rainstorms roll in with the evening and pelt the earth until the morning sunlight glistens in the pools of rain atop the sodden earth.

In 1962 the rains didn’t roll in and out.  They rolled in and stayed, pouring themselves into the mighty Nile who rose to the challenge.  Her waters ascended like never before, sending creatures to higher ground lest the Nile drink them in.  Day and night the rain fell until the unimaginable happened.

Instead of squeezing herself through the oppressive rocks of Murchison Falls, the Nile burst over the land and a completely new waterfall was born.  It was like the whole country, from breathing men to teeming rivers, rose up and claimed freedom.  The second waterfall was called Gulu Falls.  Gulu is a Bagandan name meaning ‘God of the sky’.  However most locals call it by another name: Freedom Falls.

Gulu Falls (left) and Murchison Falls (right)

Each time I answered the question ‘How is Uganda doing?’ I thought of Gulu Falls and I thought of the students I worked with in Uganda.  After living through a time of thundering, crashing oppression, there is a generation of young Ugandans rising up.  They’re dedicated to justice over corruption, love instead of vengeance and healing for their scarred land.

How is Uganda doing?

She’s headed for a bright future because when young people have hearts full of love, minds dedicated to justice and a yearning for freedom, well, that’s a force that simply can’t be contained.  And when it spills out over the land, Uganda is going to find herself completely sodden with the kind of freedom that once caused the Nile to entwine herself over the land and move in a completely new direction.

Freedom Falls

Sunday’s Promise

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Other Stories from Uganda11 Comments

“Do you realize that not everyone writes like this? You’re a gifted writer, Sun. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Sunday, or Sun as he likes to be called, tucks his head into his chest and smiles. He is quiet, always sidling up to me without a word, never stealing the spotlight.

For a moment, I watch him, marveling at what a perfect name Sun is for a kid with a luminous face. His face is always lit up like this and as we sit side by side I look to the sky to see if the sun is shining down on him.  Afternoon thunderclouds have rolled in, blotting out the sun.

We work side by side on his story about his grandmother. I swallow the memories of my own grandmother that have knotted in my throat. I ask questions and Sun answers thoughtfully, pausing to be sure of his words.

He tells the story of how his grandmother saved his life by hiding him under a blanket when the L.R.A. penetrated his house. He paints in the details of the end of her life, looking out over the horizon, not meeting my eyes. I look toward the horizon as well giving him the smallest measure of privacy and holding off more questions until he turns his face toward mine.

We’ve finished talking about his story and I have a lingering question.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A peacemaker.”

I smile thinking of the many children there who have answered the question of what they want to be when they grow up with that same answer: a peacemaker.

“And I want to be brave and kind and keep hope like my grandmother.”

It’s all I can do to hold back tears at this beautiful boy.  I clear my throat and we finish up notes for his story.

A week or so later the time has come for me to say goodbye to my Ugandan sons and daughters, to begin my trip toward home. I’m hugging and snapping photos and saying goodbye. I feel him at my side before he speaks.

“Alicia, can I talk to you?”

“Of course. Let’s walk a bit.” We move away from the throng of kids.

“What’s on your mind, Sun?”

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you, too.” I squeeze him and give him a Ugandan hug, first on one side and then on the other.

“If I write a story about you, will you come back to read it?” He stares at his feet.

“Sun, first of all I’m coming back no matter what.”

“People say that and then they don’t.”

“Then I look forward to the day when I prove to you that I mean it.” I smile at him, willing him to believe me, knowing that he is steeling himself against a litany of broken promises. “Secondly, yes, I would love to read one of your stories. But, Sun, I won’t be back for many months. Are you really only going to write one story for me to read?” I challenge him.

“I think I’ve got many stories.”

“I agree. You need to write them and when I return I’ll read them.”

“You’ll return?” Sunday questions me again.

I nod. “You’ll write?”

Sunday nods.  “I promise.”

I watch him walk away and can’t help but think that Uganda has a bright future.  A future as bright as Sun.

Lanyero Mama

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Unconventional Motherhood7 Comments

“Mum, ask me a question.”  Martin doodles on his notebook.  We are seated side by side, so close that our hips touch.

“Let me think of one.”

“You always ask me challenging questions that make me think.”  He smiles at me, pausing in his drawing.

“I’m sorry, son, I can’t think of one today.  My brain is too sad to think of a question.”

“My brain is sad, too, Mum.”

“I’m going to miss you.”

“Me, too, but African men don’t cry.  When we’re sad we just feel out of place.”

“That makes sense to me.  I feel out of place, but I’ll probably cry a little tomorrow.”

“Don’t cry, Mum.”

“I might.  But I did think of a question.”

“What is it?”

“My question is ‘What have you been thinking about today?’.”

“What have you been thinking about today?”  Martin bats the question back to me with a familiar twinkle in his eye.

“I asked you first.  So you have to answer first.”  I nudge him with my elbow.

“Give me another question.”

“Okay, how about this.  My boda driver asked me if any of the students had given me an Acholi name yet.  I told him no.  He said I should be named Aber Alicia because ‘aber’ means good and he says I’m good to everyone.  Do you think that’s a good name for me?”

“No, it’s no good.  Your name is Lanyero.  Lanyero Alicia is what you should be called.”

“What does it mean?”

“Lanyero means laughter, joyous, happy.  It also means comforter.”  He meets my eyes and mine well up with tears.  He looks down at his sketches.

“I love it.  Did you know that Alicia means ‘truthful one’?”

“No, I didn’t know it.”

“So Lanyero Alicia means ‘one who takes joy in telling the truth’.”

“Mum, I’m really going to miss you.”

“Me, too.  I feel like my heart is in my throat.”

Martin shoots me a puzzled look.

“That means I’m really sad.  I’m having a hard time swallowing my sadness back down.”

“You’ve taught me something new, Mum.  My heart is on my throat, too.”

I feel a smile slip through my lips as I picture his heart on his throat.

“You can cry if you want to, Mum.  African women cry very loudly.”

“I’m not African, Martin.”

“Yes, you are.  I just named you so.  Lanyero Alicia.  But I won’t call you that.”

“You won’t? Why not?”

“I’ll call you Lanyero Mama.”

“That’s my favorite name.”  I put my arm around him and squeeze this boy who named me, this son who has claimed me as his unlikely mother.

Martin & I

A Different Drum

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Other Stories from Uganda6 Comments

“The reward of our work is not what we get, but what we become.” Paulo Coelho

I’m becoming someone different, different and yet the same. I’m the same person who loves my husband with abandon. I’m the same person who squirrels away pockets of time just to write. I’m the same person who loves teaching kids.

But I’m also becoming this other person. I have a different idea of who God is. I have a different definition of what a mother is. My heart beats to a different drum. I’m becoming someone else and I think she’s the woman I was always meant to be.

This woman packs her bravery into a suitcase and ventures out to help kids write their stories. This woman has a looser definition of clean. This woman walks the world with curls blazing out of her head in a mad frenzy. This woman swims in the coal black eyes of orphans.

I worry that when I return home, I won’t belong. I’ll always belong in the arms of my beloved. And in the arms of my mother. But everything feels different.  Even my own skin is shades darker, like my Ugandan children have laid their hands on my arms and claimed me as their own.

I think of money differently, like how can I make more in order to do more good? I think of time differently. One of my Ugandan boys chides me for “walking too fast to think”. I think of food differently, watching my children dig and sow in the rich earth.

I feel like my heart is split in two. No, not even that, more like I now have two hearts beating in syncopation. One is the steady pulse of the life I’ve always loved-the life I love still-and the other is the patter of midnight hands tapping out life on drumskins. The rewards of this work are many and surely one of the richest rewards is who I’m becoming.

Still I wonder who I will become when my feet return home.