Walking to Kitgum

If you are a faithful blog follower of mine, you know I've taken a bit of an unannounced hiatus from blogging. This was somewhat unintentional, but I guess it was somewhat intentional as well.

Here's the thing: I feel like people reading my blog about my time in Uganda or my attempts to set up my own project want to hear about the sweeping progress I've made and my wonderful adventures in this land that is so vastly different from my home.  And to be honest, I have nothing to write about when it comes to those things, so I'm a bit scared to write.  I'm scared that if I write about how frustratingly slow things have been, all the wonderful and generous souls who donated their money will automatically assume I am squandering their money.  I'm afraid if I write about my frustrations and homesickness, people will tune out.  I'm afraid that if I write about being homesick or frustrated, people will mistake that for my being depressed or unhappy or not loving Uganda as much as I do.  

And maybe that's just what will happen, but I promised to blog, and I think facing my fears is important, so today I'm blogging honestly about my project and my frustrations. 

Recycling for Hope is limping along for a few reasons - first, I can't manage to get stencils made.  I'm now on to trying with my fourth business - and this time I'm trying to stay out of the process entirely until it comes to approving the quality.  I'm letting Lenox do all the work, hoping that my favorite Ugandan will have more success in dealing with his fellow Ugandans.  At this moment I'm not holding my breath as past experience has led me to accept that this just isn't a quick process.  And yes, I think the stencils are vital to the success of the project - if you want to know more, I'll happily explain why, but that would be an entire blog post itself.  Second, Living Hope is the organization that has been successfully making sanitary pads out of recycled paper and distributing them to school girls for about two years now.  I found out Thursday afternoon - just before heading out of town - they are no longer making them.  Haven't been for about a month, though no one told me and I've been dropping off loads of paper intermittently.  So I emailed the director to figure out why and haven't heard back.  I just got back to town and will be venturing that way in just a few hours to figure out just what the deal is.  From what I can gather, I was unaware of this, but Living Hope is the facilitator but not actually the owner of the project and there is a dispute over whose name goes on what.  Hopefully this is just a temporary problem, but as we're fond of saying here in Uganda, there's just no way of knowing.  Third, two of the largest NGOs out here - one under the UN and one under USAID - were both highly interested in participating in my project.  They were both supposed to be around for at least another year, and both have recently had major unexpected funding cuts and are soon going to be nearly nonexistent  While that isn't make or break for RFH by any means, it does feel like yet another chink in my armor.  They were great clout for getting other organizations to join, and I was counting on them sponsoring several schools' environmental programs.  Last, my website is down and I can't figure out why or how to fix it.   Again, not make or break, but severely annoying.   

All of this has left me frustrated and homesick.  I just often feel like I'm running in circles or on the other extreme - sitting stagnant.  I do have this dream of Recycling for Hope, and I think it's a really good dream, and I hope it comes into fruition, but I regularly fear that it won't.  I feel overwhelmed and second guess myself and wonder what in heaven's name I was thinking trying to do this on my own and with other people's money.  Consequently, I came to a conclusion a few weeks ago - I'm staying until March.  I determined to give it six more months and at that time I will go home.  By then, the project will either be ready to have Lenox running things full time, or it will be time to cut my losses and move on with my life.  I need a light at the end of the tunnel, and I need something to keep me going, so going home in March is playing that role.  

Let me transition to a quick story; one of my closets friends out here is Charity Watson.  She's a wild card - you just never know what she's going to do or what is about to come out of her mouth.  Last month when we were travelling on the bus to go kayaking, she started telling me about her plan to walk to a town called Kitgum.  I'm fairly certain I laughed out loud and said she was nuts when she told me.  I've been to Kitgum, and let me tell you, it is not paradise.  And it is over two hours away by car - so if one is going to walk that far for the fun of it, you better be walking somewhere like Zanzibar.  Elizabeth and I and everyone else she told gave her loads of crap for wanting to do this.  But she is a determined woman - one of the many qualities I admire about her.  So the Sunday after we got home, she set out.  Charity is a yoga instructor here in town, and I went to her class Monday, expecting a substitute instructor as I figured she would be nearing Kitgum right about then - but there she was, sitting on her yoga mat in front of the door.  "What are you doing here?" I asked in disbelief and she just laughed.  She told me she'd made it 55 kilometers (nearly 35 miles) the first day when she realized she wouldn't be able to wake up and do the same thing again the next day.  So at dusk she hitched a ride on the back of some kid's bike, who was also pumping his sister on the front bars to the next town.  From there she paid a boda to take her to the next big-ish town where she got into a mutatu (15-passenger taxi van) that took her the rest of the way into Kitgum.  She slept there that night and then rode the bus back to Gulu in the morning.  Before class started she talked a bit about the experience to everyone; as she walked it was an incredibly meditative experience.  She learned amazing things about herself, about the earth, about Uganda, and about the people - and none of it had to do with actually reaching Kitgum.  Things didn't turn out the way she planned, but in reality the experience wasn't about the plan, it was about the process - and the process was wildly successful.  

So what I really hope is that in this process of building RFH, I (and those interested in its success) can realize it's also about my life and the lives of those I'm hoping to affect.  And while things may not ever look quite like I want them to in the end, the road there has been amazing.  I wouldn't trade it for the world.   I'm not done yet, I still have faith that Recycling for Hope will pick up and become something wonderful.  But I feel like it won't be quite what I imagined and that it will take longer than I expected, so I may not be around for much of it.  But in the process, my life has changed.  I've learned so much about the environment and my responsibility as a citizen of the world.  I've learned untold amounts about accepting different cultures, about developing nations, about being committed to helping others.  I've learned where the limits of my patience lie, and I've seen those limits expand.  I've had my faith challenged by myself and others and come to terms with not having all the answers - and in fact feeling as though that is healthy.  I've read great books and gotten better at the guitar.  I've learned to cook crazy Ugandan foods and have embarked on endless DIY projects and made life-long friends.  Externally, I've helped get Patrisia's school fees paid for, I've helped Lenox start his own business, I've tried to teach 30+ girls on a weekly basis about how great their potential is, and I've saved several thousand bottles and loads of paper from being burned.  And by extension - you helped do all that as well.  I couldn't have done it with out help and support - financially and morally - both of which I've been incredibly blessed to receive.  It's certainly not all about quantifiable experiences, but sometimes it helps to recognize those things.  

I suppose the moral of this story is stay tuned.  It's not over yet, and I will try to be honest about what's going on and hope that you'll stick around for the good and the bad.  The next six months are sure to bring plenty of both.