Time Lessens What Actions Heal

It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.
- Rose Kennedy

    This quote lingers in my mind like a menacing cloud over a cheery village. At any moment the bubble can burst and drown the joys away, taking with the outpour all hope and sanity that once thrived there. All it takes is one event to shatter our existence, changing the way we view the world as we knew it to be. Eventually the pain, as if under a heavy anaesthetic, will numb away, but the bitter thoughts will remain gnawing at our psyche. All we want is to feel normal, but normal is not a luxury we can afford. We can spend thousands of dollars on cars and clothes, but even those cannot mask the deeply seated wounds we harbour within ourselves. We wait for time to run its course, for it to come and sweep away all the cobwebs in our troubled lives, but waiting for time is just that --waiting.
    I bear the scars of my unhealed wounds like many humans do, but this is not my story. Sometimes I find my days stream like a series of events that somehow all connect and intertwine in some way of another. Today was one of those days.
    As I served salad at St. John’s Kitchen this afternoon, I was talking to “red persuasion”, another volunteer, and she told me about an incident that occurred the previous week. In her story, a woman in line threw her plate full of food at a man, and was later seen causing the same kind of ruckus and violence towards him. It was later understood that they had previously been in a relationship, one that obviously did not end well. The wounds from their broken relationship remain unhealed, and she cannot cope in a healthy way. Maybe in time the pain will lesson and she will be able to move on; however, I am not one to know for certain.
    Wounds were also excavated within the walls of my home today. For years one of my family members has struggled with some deeply rooted wounds that the rest of us are blind to because he refuses to let us in. We try to help, plead with him to get some professional help, but he refuses, claiming that there is no cure for his problems and that professionals know nothing about what he experiences because they have not lived it. Yet for years I see his body, his soul, and his personality drastically alter; even his views and beliefs shift almost daily. The problem is that he cannot see that what he is doing to himself is trickling down and damaging everyone in the household. He says that he is living for me, but what he does not understand is that I do not want anyone to live for me. I want them to fight for themselves, for the life they could have, alleviated from the wounds they carry. I believe time can heal some things, but sometimes time is not enough to tackle the bigger issues.
    This brings me to my questions about my upcoming experience at Reach Out. There, people are struggling with tremendous physical and psychological issues that stem from poverty, lack of education, poor health-care, HIV/AIDS, among others, yet everyone I speak to says the same thing: they are the most joyful, kind-hearted people you will ever meet. How does someone who suffers so much, for whom everyday is a battle between life and death, have the capacity to smile and exude so much happiness in their life? I cannot fathom this. Maybe money is the problem. Our society thrives on what we can get from those slips of green -- the power, respect, goods -- but what we do not gain is the release we desire from those suffocating, unsealing wounds, because the problem was never money in the first place. Money was only a smokescreen for the real issues at hand. Or maybe our society has become so self oriented, adopting too highly a survival of the fittest mentality, that we forget about the healing that can take place within a community like the one I will be a part of in May.
    I have not even stepped foot in the country yet, yet I desire something the Ugandan people have -- the ability to heal and live life joyfully, despite the hardships that they have come across, the hardships that threaten their lives. 

Cultural Etiquette: What Not to Do

    It is human nature to revel in rebellion; to feel that rush of excitement pulsing in your veins. You get a taste of that forbidden fruit, and like a leach, you cling, and refuse to unlatch until you are satisfied. But what if you are not a rebel? What if you are just a plain Jane, trying to glide below the radar. You do everything you think is right from the perspectives you have adopted over years of endless parental and societal grooming. Get ready to throw those teachings out the window for you are not in Kansas anymore. So clank those heals all you want, you cannot have your way this time. You are in Uganda now.
    I am quite known by my friends to do and say ridiculous things at any given time. While in Canada this can seem humorous, in a foreign country this may create conflict. Even things we Westerners would not think twice about here, may be considered offensive in another country. So I would like to dedicate this blog to cultural etiquette: the What Not To Do in Uganda.
    Sarcasm. While it is a cultural norm in the Western world to use this ironic tool, in Uganda it may not be understood in the same way as you intended it to be understood. This may cause you to offend people without intending to. To prevent this, avoid sarcasm!
    Greetings. Although handshakes are quite universal, refrain from using your left hand. It is interesting to note that when females greet other females, sometimes the left hand is extended over ones elbow while shaking hands. When greeting a male, handshakes are used if the women extends her hand first, if not, nodding is also acceptable.
    Personal Space. You do not have any, so get used to claustrophobia and hug-a-thons. From what I learned from Krista, a previous Beyond Borders student, Ugandan people are very friendly and will constantly try to hug you. When talking to you, people usually stand less than an arms length away, so get comfortable with people invading your personal space.
    Eye Contact. Prolonged eye contact can be seen as aggressive or even promiscuous, especially when directed at males. Often when talking to men, Ugandan women look down or away as to not cross these boundaries. This may be a challenge for me, considering that I stare at people all the time without even realizing I am doing it. Also, I am somewhat of a feminist, so the idea of women looking down when talking to men irritates me. However, I must remember that it is not my culture I am living in, I am there to be engrossed in Ugandan culture, and not there to offend anyone.
    Time. Expect Ugandans not to follow the same ticking clock as you. From what I have read and heard from Krista (as she told her story about having no one to greet her at the airport during her arrival), Uganda’s are not punctual. It is normal for them to arrive one or two hours after your scheduled meeting time. Interesting fact: those with higher statuses are late more than those from a lower status. This seems opposite from Western ideas, for Westerners are trilled about the importance of time management and punctuality, especially if of a higher position.
    Food. Avoid digesting ice cubes! The water can make you sick. This is one I would not think of.
    Clothing. A lot of leg is a big no, no. In Canada, it is so common to dress in shorts and miniskirts in the Summer, but in Uganda this can make you a target, especially if you have blond hair and light eyes. This may be unbearable because of the humid African weather, but it is better to be safe than sorry.
    Overcharging. This is not so much a what not to do, but more of a be aware that this will often occur. Locals will often try to overcharge you in taxi’s, shops, markets, etc., because as a foreigner you are automatically flagged as having more money. This will definitely be a challenge for me because I hate haggling, and avoid it when purchasing products.
    Gestures. Some gestures I found particularly interesting to read about because they are so different from North American gestures. The signal for “come here” is illustrated by facing one’s palm downwards and making a scratching motion with one’s fingers. Signifying with a palm facing upwards and flicking one’s fingers downwards can mean various things: “what’s up?”, “what?”, “sorry, what can I do?”, “you know”. While these two gestures are not particularly necessary things to know, they may be interesting to observe and understand while living there. Also, pointing with only the index finger can be viewed as a rude gesture, because it is a gesture used for pointing at animals. It is better to point with the whole hand. One gesture that might be useful for me is knowing how to hail a taxi. While there are different methods of doing this, such as pointing downwards to signify a short distance, or pointing with a flat hand at a waist height to signify a medium distance, pointing upwards repeatedly is strongly urged if you want to get a taxi quickly. This gesture signifies that you intend to travel a long distance, but even if you do not intend to travel to a far away location, taxi drivers will more readily stop because they have the potential to make more money. Another gesture that can be viewed as disrespectful is leaning on one’s left hand at the dinner table, or stretching out one’s legs.
    Religion. Religion is a large phenomena in Uganda, and one of the first things Ugandan’s will ask you about is what religion you are affiliated with. Westerners must watch what they say when talking about religious beliefs because it can offend someone from Uganda.
    Night crawling. Avoid traveling alone at night. In Canada I do not really think twice about this. This is not because Canada is not dangerous at night, but that my moms incessant paranoia about going out alone at night makes me want to rebel against her fear sometimes. However, being in a foreign country, I do not think this urge to rebel will be quite as strong.
    While this is probably not a conclusive list of things to avoid or be cautious of in Uganda, it covers the important points and helps me gain a greater understanding about the culture and customs of Africa. Although some items may seem ridiculous to Westerners, as a traveler, it is important not to push the boundaries that we would often push in our home countries. We are the guests, so we must abide by there rules even if we do not like them. The point of this experience is not to change their way of life or push Western beliefs onto them, the point of this experience is to be the foreigner; to see how it is living in their shoes, and to learn from their way of life. It is easy to just come in thinking we know everything, being from a developed country, but it is far more difficult to let the underdeveloped nations take us by the hand and lead us along their path in order to show us the flaws in our own society.
  
For further interest, also visit:
http://www.culturecrossing.net/basics_business_student_details.php?Id=30&CID=212
http://www.everyculture.com/To-Z/Uganda.html

Learn to Say Nkwagala

    All it takes is one word to engulf nations; one word to transcend the barriers of time and space. It is something universal, fundamental. Humans yearn to capture it, like children chasing fireflies-- with open jars and outstretched arms. They are mesmerized by that spark, projected from some mysterious inner source. A flicker of light, against a world shrouded in darkness. What they desire most is to feel that light flicker within themselves; a light to eliminate the encapsulating darkness they experience in their inner world. For some this word is nothing but a hallmark term; overused and oversold. For others it is one of joy, sustenance, and survival. This word simply put, is love.   
    Love is exactly what I witnessed today as I spent my Valentine’s Day afternoon volunteering at St. John’s Kitchen. Not even five minutes passed before a stranger came up to me-- all smiles-- as I was wiping down a table, and wished me a “Happy Valentine’s Day”. It was phenomenal to witness the power of that sentiment, alive in a place like a soup kitchen. This man did not know me, I have never met him; he is a visitor, I, a volunteer; but the exchange between us was not one of cynicism about a holiday known for its consumerism, the exchange was something deeper, more in-tune with a spirit of friendship that the holiday is meant to portray.
    The spirit of this day did not end there, for as I went around cleaning tables, a man I see regularly-- let us call him ‘Bob’-- sparked a conversation with me. Generally I would have simply answered with a one or two word response, but being there made me think about my purpose at St. John’s: it was to learn from people. So I asked him about his hobbies and interests (crafts, biking, reading), asked him about where he came from (Toronto), and learned his perspective on the world he lives in. What I learned is that Bob likes Kitchener because compared to Toronto, it is less polluted and less condensed with people and traffic. He also mentioned that in times when coming to a soup kitchen was necessary, the food in the Toronto soup kitchens was bland and not as nourishing as it is at St. John’s. It was so interesting to hear this perspective straight from his lips because when Joe and Rebbecca mentioned St. John’s as a nurturing community, it seemed more like their words spoke from a place where they wished it to be so. What I found even more astounding, was that this man, out of nowhere, produced a necklace for me to have. To have little, and to give regardless, that is truly the meaning of the word love.
    Aesthetics also sparked an interesting thought in me about the nature of Valentine’s Day. She told me a story about her dearest friend who died recently, and after her death she became really close with her friends children. So close in fact that the son asked her if she would be his sister. Then this morning, Aesthetics received a text from him asking if she would consider it incestuous if he asked her to be his valentine. Curious, she asked other volunteers what they thought, and all came to the conclusion that yes, it would be considered incestuous. After some thought, she disregarded their opinions. We think about Valentine’s Day as a day to celebrate the love between couples, but often forget about the love between those who have come together in another way. They are bonded not in consummate love, but in a mutual love for a person that passed, a person that in death, brought them together.
    With Valentine’s Day on my mind, I was curious about the Ugandan view on this day, and whether or not they celebrate it as we do. Robert Jamieson from the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, pointed out that Kampala, the capital city of Uganda, comes alive and is transformed “into a giddy sea of red and black” (the traditional Valentine’s Day colours warn in celebration) on this day. Many say that the hype was brought over by American tourists and adopted by the younger generation of Ugandan people over the years. However, many older individuals criticize the craze that is associated with this day, considering it a “strange foreign habit”, one that “is a brief, giddy, respite from life that can be punishing here”. This shows an interesting perspective, that Valentine’s Day is ornamental and enchanting, yet it is a temporary euphoria against the problems that the country faces on a day-to-day basis, problems like war and HIV/AIDS.
    While I cannot argue against these opinions, I think a little enchantment is not a bad thing. Everyone needs escape once in a while, everyone needs to feel loved. Love has the power to transform, all we need to do is let it.

Hoarders

Tension is who you think you should be. Relaxation is who you are. - Chinese Proverb

Pressure and stress is the common cold of the psyche. - Andrew Denton

    Humans are hoarders. Not of ratty, old clothes, or torn slips of scribbled on paper, or even boxed up memories, but of stress. We fill our minds like we do our closets. Stuff all our pains and tensions into one confined space. As an obstacle arises, we push it to the very back of that confined space so that we do not have to face it right away. What happens when that closet can no longer hold its contents? Will it simply explode or will it, like some work of magic, expand to hold what we force it to hold?
    This morning I felt like this metaphoric closet of mine was about to explode as I was reminded of what still needs to be done prior to departure. I could not help but zone out at times, as I began to feel my stress levels rise and could not channel it into something positive. Maybe that is the suppressor in me, shoving my tensions in the back of the closet. The thoughts of finances, immunization shots, flight arrangements, fundraising initiatives, filling out scholarships, finding answers to my questions, juggled between a full five subject course-load and work, hit me hard. I do not even know where to start, and that is what makes it overwhelming. There is so much to do and so little time to do it. What challenges me is not the task itself, but it is the stress of getting it all done that holds me back. I have never been very good at time management, although I am exceptional at procrastination and indecisiveness.
    Over the years I have acquired this not so pleasant art. It is as if my mind cannot function properly, cannot spit out what it needs to say until the pressure is on and time is ticking to a close. This procrastination is something I desperately need to work on, because it does nothing but make me stagnate and makes the tensions rise within my body. I thrive on pressure, but I wish I did not have to. This stress is something that I need to learn to mediate, especially now as my placement in Uganda inches closer and closer.
    There, I will not be able to push things back like I do way too often here, for I will be thrust into situations that may require rapid decision making and initiated actions. This scares me, but what I have learned this past year after some reflecting, is that juices flow when you are invested in something you love and when it is something you are passionate about. The beauty of words and how they can be strung together to create a tremendous effect is what kept me in my major; however, I often find myself bored. The courses that are required of me do not stimulate my mind like a good book or song does, and that is where my passion wavers. I feel like my brain retains nothing in those instances, and writers block ensues.
    My goal for the rest of this term is to somehow let go of some of those stresses; learn that I am not superwoman, I cannot do everything all at once. All I can do is remember how passionate I am about what the Beyond Borders students are trying to achieve, and take baby steps in order to meet my goal!

La Luta Continua

  

     The struggle for equality is one that all humans face; whether it be trying to break the double standard between men and women, struggling to attain equal wages for all workers, alleviating prejudices towards different races, or fighting for equal rights for gays and lesbians, among others. In some countries this struggle is less apparent, more subtle in skimming the surface of our social awareness. In Africa, it hits you over the head with a hammer (literally). On January 26th 2011, David Kato, a prominent LGBT activist was brutally killed inside his home. This marks a very sad day for a community that spends their lives fighting for equal rights, against a nation that remains deaf to their pleas.
    This is not a story about a person that simply wants to be called nicer names, it is a story of a homosexual man against an entire nation that refuses to budge in their strong, prejudicial beliefs. In North America we see how hard the LGBT community fights to have the opportunity to get married and have families, or to simply live their lives without the stigma of the evil eye against them. However, Africa faces a whole new set of issues, escaladed to the extreme. People like Kato must fight to stay out of prison for being who they are, fight against a population who wishes the death penalty against them, and fight against a system that continues to oppress and berate them day-after-day. It is not enough to be looked down upon, one must be ‘hung’ also.
    The Globe and Mail reports on the death astound me. How can the prominent Ugandan newspaper, The Rolling Stone, publish an article exposing 100 gay persons to a clearly hateful public, with a headline streaming “hang them”. I doubt something like this would ever be publishable in a North American newspaper, with its various human rights guidelines. What baffles me more is how the editor, Giles Muhame’s, could deny his part in the murder, claiming it was not what he intended. Then go further to say, “There has been a lot of crime, it may not be because he is gay. We want the government to hang people who promote homosexuality, not for the public to attack them. We said they should be hanged, not stoned or attacked.” It is funny how the government slaying people is alright, but civilians doing the same goes beyond some higher moral code.
    BBC News illustrates an even more shocking view, one that spits on the grave of an already dehumanized being. Priest, Thomas Musoke, preached to the gay community at Kato‘s funeral saying, "you must repent. Even the animals know the difference between a male and a female”. Although the scorn of homosexuality is not isolated to this faith, it takes on new meaning in this context. I beg to ask the question, what ever happened to all human life being sacred in the eyes of God? Apparently equality was not what Jesus preached at all.
    What about the police’s role? The investigation into his murder is clearly one that is swept under the rug, as Uganda’s police spokeswoman, Judith Nabakooba, claims, “At the moment, we think theft is the most likely motive” (BBC News). That motive somehow seems fishy to me, considering all the death threats Kato received after his homosexuality was publicized. This makes me wonder, are the police fighting for justice? Or are they shrouding a issue that they simply do not want fixed? Considering the Anti-Homosexuality Bill that the African parliament is questioning whether to enforce, and the illegality of homosexuality in 37 African countries as it is, it is difficult not to assume the latter.
    It is sad to hear that a person who devoted his life to changing the face of a very prejudicial world, lost his life fighting for the same cause. Was it a lifetime wasted? Or did humanity learn something from his tragic death? Can equality ever be attained in Africa? Or is this too much to hope for? These questions, I wish I could answer with a positive air.

To read more about these heated articles, follow the links: 

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/world/africa-mideast/ugandan-gay-activist-beaten-to-death-after-threats/article1884393/

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-12306077

http://www.hrw.org/en/news/2011/01/27/uganda-promptly-investigate-killing-prominent-lgbt-activist

http://www.hrw.org/en/news/2009/10/15/uganda-anti-homosexuality-bill-threatens-liberties-and-human-rights-defenders

Pay It Forward!

     As promised, my little acts of kindness. Curious about Joanne’s proposition to the ‘Beyond Borders Crew’ to perform a kind gesture to a stranger over the Christmas break, I decided to try out her suggestion. One night before work I made my occasional Timmies run, and saw a middle-aged man waiting behind me in his truck in the drive-thru line. It was not much, but it felt good buying his coffee for him without his knowledge. I do not actually know what his reaction was --it was dark and I was running late-- but I assume he was confused as to why a random would buy him his drink. In all honesty, it did not really matter what his reaction was, I did not do it to see his reaction or to get a thank you. I did it because a lot of times people focus on money like it is a force that governs their lives, so they must hold onto every penny. Yes, humans need money to live, but often times they forget that it is not the most important thing. While this act is nothing life changing, it is one step towards the vision I desire for our world.
    The night before our first class at The Working Centre, I wanted to make sure I knew where it was prior to so I would not be late. So one night I drove down with my brother, and then parked at the Mary’s Driving School parking lot after I had found it to try to determine what root is the fastest root to get take. While doing so, a man came up to the car and lifted his finger. I was unsure of what he was doing because it looked like he was signalling ‘wait a minute’. So finally my brother rolled down the window slightly. The man roughly told us his story.
     He just got out of a 11 year sentence in prison, and was wondering if we could spare $0.25. He stepped back to show us he was not threatening. I was confused at the amount he asked for. What could he do with $0.25? Phone calls cost more then that now-a-days. So instead I gave him as much as I had on me, $7 worth. When he received the money he asked “really?” as if he could not believe my kindness. To me it was nothing, to him it was something. He shook my hand and thanked me profusely, then as he walked away I wondered if he was being genuine. Often times people wonder if their good deeds are going to good causes. Sometimes we just have to hope that they do. I watched him walk away and saw him meet up with a friend waiting nearby. This sparked doubts in my mind, made me think that my money was going towards something other then food. But then I thought about how threatening it would seem if two men came up to my car. Would I have still opened up my wallet to them? Probably not. Maybe they realized this theory. I drove home with a clear head, knowing that at least I tried to help someone who asked for it, regardless of their motives.
    The next day when we were taking a tour of St. John’s Kitchen, I spotted the same man outside the building that was outside my car window. It is often difficult to distinguish the crooks from the needy, that is true. But how would you feel if you turned someone away that was genuinely in need?

PAY IT FORWARD!

Appearances and Realities

     They walk in, line up, take their place amongst the others. I look at their faces, wondering what has led them to this place. What series of events have been strung together in their lives to lead them to the doors of St. John’s Kitchen? Did they lose their house or job? Do they suffer from addictions they cannot manage? Or did something else happen to them? Their struggles are written all over their weather beaten faces, yet their faces are not as grim as one would expect. They grab their trays and their plates and patiently make their way down to get food. Every mouth opens with a “yes please, thank you”. Maybe what their faces illuminated for me was a sense of humility and gentleness, an image that their bodies did not likewise express. One man even jokes, “I will not die today” to the staff and volunteers. This lightly spoken line is one that rings through my mind like a gong waking me from a daze. The humorous manner in which it is spoken does not lighten the harsh reality of what is said. The irony is that they are in a constant battle with death. Daily they fight to put food in their bellies, and to hide from the harsh winter winds that threaten their health and well being. Yet they did not project their negative circumstances into negative energy on those who were behind the counter serving them. We are the outsiders after all. They looked not with judgment or anger, but with gratitude. That is one thing I did not expect.
    My first impression of St. John’s Kitchen: Ummm? I was a little taken aback when I first met the coordinator, let us call her ‘Aesthetics’. She was not expecting me, and was wondering why I was there and why she had no knowledge of my placement. I was intimidated by her at first, but then when “Pink Panther” showed up, and she began to joke saying, “oooww he’s cuteee, look at his arm muscles and pecks. Men are aesthetically pleasing for me” I could not help but laugh and loosen my opinion of her.
    When I finally got my sexy hairnet and apron on I felt quite lost because everyone was running around and I had no clue what to do or where to start! With a little help from ‘J-dawg’, another volunteer, I slowly took to action. I swept, prepared food, and served. It was an interesting first soup kitchen experience, and three hours well spent! I am looking forward to going back and seeing how things change over the course of the term.