Trip to GULU

You ever get the feeling when you’ve been somewhere so meaningful and touching that you realize that you’ve just been in the wrong place for the past month, two months etc? I just returned the other day from Gulu where I have had a similar experience. Gulu is one of the main cities up in the north. It was most frequently featured in the film “the Invisible children” which is about the night commuters, or the children who flee the rural areas to flee the LRA (rebel army who abducts children to be soldiers or sex slave) or sent by their parents because of the poverty situation. I was staying in the catechetical center run by a Fr. Joseph Okumu (brilliant man) with the double purpose of visiting him regarding Inculturation and visiting the IDP camps with Caritas to witness the consequences of this war and the work being done by the church.

There have been so many meaningful experiences just over a period of three days that it is hard for me to sort them out in this short email, but bear with me as I myself am still responding and reflecting on these experiences.

Situation in Uganda
In the northern part of Uganda, there has been a war that has been going on for the past 20 years (a full 21 in January). Rebel leader, Joseph Kony, went into the bush in 1986 and began his attack on the Museveni Regime. Museveni himself came to power through a gorilla war against the dictator Obote. Uganda itself has been in a constant state of war since Idi Amin’s time in the 60’s. The LRA (and the government’s military the UPDF) have terrorized the Acholi people in the north over the past 20 years. The LRA has been known to murder, rape, torture and mutilate the population here. They also abduct children who they then force to commit atrocities and join the ranks of their soldiers.

IDP camps
In the face of abject poverty, it is sometimes hard to react at all. This may sound odd to many of your ears, but I would almost compare it to a sensory overload. Entering into the camps, I was all the sudden surrounded by huts, built right next to each other, in camps filled with what might be described as human misery. Gift and burden, I tend towards the brighter side of things (an attitude founded on a profound respect for human dignity even in a state of misery. I reject any judgement, as I have even heard before here in Uganda from my ex-pat. Friends that this person would be better off never alive). In the face of such misery, does one’s pity add anything to it? I don’t know, but I made the choice to provide only my support and encouragement, rather than despair. I was visiting the camps with Caritas, the social support, development and relief arm of the church. Caritas is a Latin word which means Charity. Caritas Gulu works to help the most vulnerable and needy in the camps. They try to reach out to those people who aren’t supported by those around them and who would not be reached by the other NGO’s. My second day in the camps we visited a list of people who were identified by the catechist (will explain below) as the most vulnerable and most needy. Amongst these people are child led households, abandoned elderly (often supporting grandchildren), single parent households (could even have 10 dependents) and victims of the physical effects of war (landmines, mutilation). These people met with us and were divided amongst the caritas workers to register them at their huts. As I stood on the side, as those originally identified were roll called, I couldn’t help but see the dignity that these people possessed. I don’t mean this as some abstract ideal that guides our social actions, but a true sense of resilience in the face of the suffering around them and on their person. One mzee (old man) missing a foot and crippled in the other, forced to move around on his knees, held all the respect of an elder.

As we followed these people to their homes I was followed by children yelling out Muno no, which means white person in Acholi. It was actually refreshing not to be called Mzungu for once. Acholi is not a Bantu language, but actually a Nilotic language. Many of them asked me to take their picture. With my previous day in the camp I was very sensitive to the issue of photos. Unfortunately, I think it is easy for us to live behind the camera. Perhaps I am too sensitive to the subtleties, but it is easy to dehumanize a person with a camera as they are somehow treated like they are in a zoo, people to be watched in their misery.
Following these children asking me to take their photos, I began to see how my own camera could be a way of breaking the ice. The first women who we visited allowed me to take her photo and afterwards she thanked me very much, for it was the first time she had seen a photo of herself. I then proceeded to be the (sensitive) photographer, using my camera to help break the ice with the children around there. Unfortunately, I didn’t see much difference between the IDP camps and the slums of Kampala.

Catechists

I was struck by the role that the catechists are playing in the history of Uganda and in particular in these past 20 years. There have been over 40 catechists who were martyred here in Uganda. While many priests left the area because of the security situation, these catechist stayed on, many times traveling long distances to get communion from a priest for their community. These catechists are the church. They are really a new vision of what it means to be a part of the church here. In Uganda’s history, the catechists were often in a place before the missionaries ever reached there. Now, the catechists are playing a vital role in the camps. Many of them have been trained by Caritas to be their community resource person. They identify the local needs of the people and bring these to caritas. They are the people who are on the ground, living in the camps. I wish I could communicate better their role, for it is truly something special. For about 5 years UNICEF and World food didn’t want to work with the catechist because of their connection to the church, but they have now realized that these are the people with the most integrity on the ground.

The saddest thing is that the catechists themselves, who often have families of their own, do all this work as volunteers and get a pittance stipend of only about a dollar a month.

There will be more to come later as I reflect. Thanks for reading.