Kitgum

Greetings from Gulutown,

Early this week the group and I traveled up to Kitgum. As usual, the roads were abysmal but the landscape around here is beautiful and it more than makes up for it. We have turned to card games to break up the monotony of the van rides because each trip takes at least two hours and staring out the window with an iPod in is only entertaining for so long. Spades and hearts are the two games of choice and we have fierce competitions, normally in the back seats of the matatus. I figured out that over a two-day span I had played eight hours of card games… wow.

When we reached Kitgum we headed straight to a hotel for a lecture/ discussion with the Kitgum district representative from the National Resistance Movement (NRM) about decentralization in Uganda. It ended up being a 45-minute talk about how the government in Kampala was doing everything in its power to bring all districts in Uganda up to the same level of development with well-placed and well-timed grants. Even when confronted with the reality of Kitgum, a place so obviously ignored by the government in Kampala, he stuck to the government line. No amount of questioning could get him to spout anything but what he was paid by the government to spout. He tried to avoid all of our questions about the continued poverty in the north by stating statistics about the growth of the Ugandan economy. All in all, an incredibly frustrating experience. Most, if not all, of us left feeling indignant.

I mentioned in an earlier post the high level of alcoholism and the abundance of cheap, bagged booze. Well, in Kitgum, I had the chance to sample some of this potent liquid. For 500 UGX or about 25 cents I bought a 120ml bag of Rider Vodka, produced right in Kampala so you know its high quality. The listed ingredients were as follows: Potable Spirits, Purified Water, and Permitted Food Flavors. Now if that doesn’t make you want to ingest the contents of that plastic sac, then who knows what will. It was surprisingly drinkable though and had a slight pineapple hint to it. Maybe that explains why so many people can put so much of this down.

LAMWO DISTRICT and PADIBE GIRL’S SCHOOL

The following day we took what we were told would be a 15-minute ride that took 2 hours (We should start to realize these things sooner) to the neighboring Lamwo district, created last year as a new district separate from Kitgum district. The local government was just establishing themselves in temporary housing while their new district offices were being built. We were able to talk to three district officers, all of whom happened to be members of the NRM. But unlike our last encounter with NRM party members, this meeting was surprisingly open and honest.

By far the most colorful character was a schoolteacher turned politician by the name of Abraham. He was a jolly man with a cheerily rotund waist who dressed to the nines and rocked a pink tie. He was very theatrical when telling stories (He shook Joseph Kony’s hand at the Juba Peace Talks) and smiled a lot. After he told us about his role in the governance of the district, we were able to ask him some questions. It turns out that he used to be a member of an opposition party but realized that his political ambitions would come to nothing if he were not a member of the NRM. He said that as he was an old man he didn’t want to fight the powers that be, as it would cause unneeded stress in his life. When asked about why the north was doing so much worse than the rest of the country in terms of development he told us straight up that the government in Kampala simply had no interest in the region. He told us about a new electricity project in Lamwo district and how it was only going through because the district representatives were all from the NRM. He had a slight infatuation with electricity and its benefits so if the NRM was his road to getting power in his district then by all means he was going to support them. It was an interesting insight into the local politics of the region and made our group realize that it wasn’t all that different from American politics in that some people sacrifice their base beliefs in order to get what they want or need for their constituents.

After a lunch of Nutella, bananas, and chips we were told, for the first time, that we would next be heading to a local school for an organized program. Our program assistant, Rafela, jokingly told us that we could walk, only the guys took her seriously and we set out on a trek through the bush. We made our way along paths worn in the grass over rivers and past huts. We made it to the school mere minutes after the rest of the group coated in a nice layer of sweat and filled with man-pride at having made it without asking for directions.

We were quickly taken to be seated in front of a crowd of about 200 students from the school under the shade of a large tree. We were asked to introduce ourselves and there was plenty of laughter, as the students could hardly understand us when we spoke in our rapid, Americanized English.

After a brief introduction by the head of the school, the head girl came forward and gave a speech. It was basically a list of grievances to the head of schools in the district about the poor condition the school was in. She begged from more security, more dorms, a functioning library, and textbooks. It seemed a desperate plea for assistance to a person who seemed to have little interest in her speech and who probably didn’t have the resources to meet any of the stated needs.

After some more speeches and songs by the students, they opened a forum for the students to ask us anything and for us to ask them anything. We found out quickly that most of the students had been living in IDP camps for most of their lives and some had even been abducted by the LRA. Their lives were full of traumatic events. All of their questions were about how they should cope with the loss of parents, friends, and sibling, and how they should find the motivation to go to school when their parents weren’t alive to encourage them. They couldn’t have asked a more woefully unqualified group. Our combined traumatic experiences couldn’t equal even one of these children’s experiences. It is we who should have been asking them how they dealt with these things in their everyday life. I personally could not answer any of the questions as I had no words to even come close to doing their questions justice. A few people in our group gave really great responses but they were all basically stock answers to give some response to questions none of us had answers to.

The program closed with the students performing the Acholi Royal Dance for us and then wishing us well on our continued trips in Uganda. We returned to the hotel and the next day headed back to Gulu.

Overall our time in Kitgum showed us the reality of Ugandan politics on the local level and opened our eyes to the trauma that many Northern Ugandan children have experienced and still experience on a day to day basis. We head to an IDP camp tomorrow to bear witness to the places where these people were forced to live for almost 20 years during the LRA war.

I will close on a happier note. Yesterday I was interviewing someone at my mothers NGO offices for a paper and when I was introducing myself my mother followed up by stating my Acholi name! Apparently she was waiting to tell me until Sunday for our Homestay farewell party, but she let it slip. She gave me the name “Omara,” which means “beloved” in Acholi. Works for me!

I hope everything is going well where ever you may be. Happy Halloween!!

Muzungu with an Acholi name currently in Gulu, Uganda, disappointed that he has to miss both Halloween AND Thanksgiving!