Being White

Being White

I knew I would be different. I knew I was white. I knew Africans were black. I knew I would be the small percentage of white in a black culture. But what I didn’t know was how difficult it would be. I didn’t know what the real implications of being white in a black culture were. But now I understand.

It wasn’t until I became the minority where I started to learn about what it meant to be white. I had never thought about being white until recently. What is “white culture”? What are the implications of my skin color to Uganda, to Africa, to the rest of the world? Growing up in a non-diverse area, the opportunity to look at being white never came up. It was just how it was. I naively thought everyone saw the world through my lens. Sure, there was the slave trade starting in the 1600s, the civil war in the 1800s, and the civil rights movement in the mid-1900s, but that is in history now, that’s all over right? There is no such thing as inequalities because of race now right? We don’t live in a world that judges both character and wealth by the color of one’s skin do we? WRONG.

The truth is that we live in a world that strongly operates based on the assumptions of race. And thee most powerful and privileged race in the world is that of the white individual. In east Africa, the term mzungu is labeled to all white people in the country. It can be offensive at first because in the US it is rude to identify someone by their race, but here in Uganda the term literally translates to someone of good standing. So when children are running after white people screaming mzungu! Mzungu!, simply trying to catch a smile or wave, they are telling that person how well-off they are. In other words, they are saying because I am white, I have good standing and I’m essentially better.

In the United States if one is a minority, (African-American, Latino, Asian, Native American, etc) they are more likely to be in poverty, be unemployed, be in prison, not go to college, have teen pregnancy, develop a mental illness, be an alcoholic, not make as much money, and the list seriously goes and on and on of ways non-whites are discriminated against. We live in a world that is dominated by the color white. And the reason it is so powerful is because no one sees it—it’s invisible.

Each of the times I have visited a public place in Kampala where security checks are at every door, I have never once been inspected. If a traffic officer sees me in a vehicle, our car is exempt from the rules of the road. Because I’m white, it’s like I’m above the law, and above morality. At my internship in rural Kisoga, children crawl on my skin, rubbing it up and down, simply wanting to just touch it. All of this drives me crazy, not just because of the attention, but because I don’t want anyone to believe that I am any better than anyone else because I’m white. I don’t want to be treated like a god. If those children touch my skin they won’t be healed. I’m human, I’m a sinner, and just because I’m white doesn’t mean I don’t struggle and I don’t have hardships.

I have had to realize the position God has put me in in this world. I am white. And that is not going to change. I need to be an advocate for the discrimination and disparity happening around the globe due to racism. Yes, my skin has power, but more than that it has influence. And as I navigate what that really means in this world, I will have to learn to speak up for those who cannot and use my whiteness for good.

This next 10 days I will living in rural Capchorwa, east Africa, to live with a host family on a farm and do life with them. I couldn’t be more excited. Please pray for an open-mind and adaptability as I navigate what rural African living is!

Ali

Invisible Children

 “They came in the night,” she said. “We knew the knock as soon as we heard it. We knew we were helpless at that moment and we were going to have to go with them. They grabbed my brothers by the arm and chained my parents outside in the back of our home. When I heard the two gunshots following my brothers wailing, I knew what had happened—they made them kill my parents. They abducted me and told me I was going to be a commander’s wife and I was responsible to satisfying him. He was 63, I was 11. I screamed and cried every night but no one heard me. There was always the thought of escaping, but everyone knew it would be triple the horror to escape and be caught. A boy from my village tried it once and when he was caught, as punishment for trying to get away, they made the other boys kill him with sticks. And then they made them smear the boy’s blood on their faces as a reminder not to run away. The other boys were his friends, but they too would be killed if they didn’t kill him. I became pregnant with the commander’s baby, but even being pregnant didn’t stop them from making us walk hundreds of miles, days and nights without water or food. I wanted to die. But something in me wanted to fight, something in me said I have to keep moving. God had a plan for me, and it was to live.” –as told by a Ugandan woman previously abducted by Joseph Kony and the LRA

This is the short story of a young woman who was a previous child solider in the Lord’s Resistance Army. Gulu, northern Uganda is where this took place from 1986-2006. I spent this past weekend in Gulu visiting different NGOs and getting the opportunity to hear the stories of some of the women who were abducted. Uganda declared peace in 2006 with the LRA, but the leader (Joseph Kony) is still abducting children in the Congo. Uganda knows the war isn’t over, and there is a possibility he will return to Gulu—the place he started.

Kony would target children ages 11-14 and abduct them from their homes in the middle of the night. He would turn the boys into child soldiers, often making them kill their own family to psychologically destroy them and also not give them any reason to return home. The girls were used as sex slaves for the commanders in the army. They were forced to be wives and bear children of rape.  At the project I visited, there were five women who shared their stories—all of whom were in slavery for 7-10 years. They have been working at this organization called Amani for the past 8 years to try and reintegrate into society. With no family, children of rape, and intense trauma, they face battles every day I will never even come close to understanding.

Hearing this story in person from a woman with wet tears and gasping sobs, made everything I had ever learned about trauma come to life. Everything from the Kony 2012 movement and the LRA, it just became real. As tears rolled down my face, I thought about how shielded I was about what really goes on in the world. It’s not that I believed atrocities didn’t happen, but I live in a bubble. It has just been about donating money to help, to make oneself feel better about themselves. It was about gaining knowledge to engage in political conversations, but not about living a compassionate lifestyle. It was never about the people. Because the people were “out there” or “over there”. They were invisible. Yes, people mattered, but they were too far away to really care. But when I was able to hear a real story of a real person, it suddenly became about the people. Those “invisible children” became visible. And once they are visible and they look you straight in the face, you will never forget those eyes. Because those eyes are the surface of a human soul, no different than mine or yours, worthy of time and resources, and seeking for the same longing every human being has had since the beginning of time: to be unconditionally accepted and loved.

Presence

What I have thoroughly enjoyed about the Ugandan culture, and I believe this speaks to most of Africa, is that presence in the basis for all human relationships. Simply being with another person, sitting in silence, is more powerful than any mumbled speech just to fill space and alleviate the uncomfortableness a person feels. 

When I was staying with my host family the last two weeks in Mukono, we would eat most of our meals in silence. While this was strange for me at first, because supper is usually a time for catching up on each other’s day, supper was a time to be simply present with each other. I came to enjoy such times because there is so much that happens without communication. In the United States we would measure “time spent together” on the basis of our conversation or activity. While  here in Uganda, spending time together is simple being present. This has worked in my advantage in a lot of ways here because of the language barrier. English is the national language, but most of the people I work with don’t k now English. Since going to school is a privilege and costs money, a lot of people cannot afford the fees and therefore don’t learn English as a language. But as I interact with kids and adults, language hasn’t even been a necessity. I have learned that there is so much communication that happens non-verbally anyways—who knew? One of my closest relationships here in Uganda is with a little Muslim boy names Shehebu—he’s 3. As soon as my van pulls up to the office and I get out of the car, he is running towards me in the same shirt and trousers he was wearing the day before with a big smile on his face yelling “Ali! Ali! Ali!” I have been able to pick up a few phrases from him in Luganda here and there (kids really are the best teachers), but mostly we communication through play. We became buddies just from simply being in the same room.

What would it mean if our relationships weren’t formed by words or actions, but by simply sharing the same air? Would there be less fighting because our value would be in our humanness and not our prestige, social class, race, religion, sex, etc etc etc? I long for this in our world—that each person has value because they are human.

For we ourselves know what it means, as a stranger passes us on the pavement, to catch a fleeting, spontaneous smile and to know we are recognized not by name but simply for our humanity. For a moment our presence to one another, eye to eye and face to face, dispels the isolation and lifts our hearts. –John Taylor

Ali

This is Ugandan social work

Earlier this week I went on my first home visit to a family out in one of the villages. The purpose of the visit was to prepare one of the four children to meet their sponsor the next day in Kampala.  I needed to make sure she had something good to wear and also a gift to give to the sponsor. It had been pouring rain that day so the car I was taking was not able to maneuver through the thick bush and mud of where this girl lived. So myself and two other women got out to walk up a mile-long hill through the mud. As I was dodging sticky puddles of mud my supervisor chuckled, “This isn’t American social work anymore Ali, welcome to Africa.” It was like she read my mind. I was thinking about how social work in the United States is accompanied by clean dress, paved roads  (or at least semi-smooth), air-conditioning, and case files on computer systems. I couldn’t help but wonder how in the world I ended up in this place.

When we arrived to the one-room, mud-bricked home with no door and chickens running everywhere, our feet looked like we have been playing in the mud all day. As soon as we walked up to the family the woman tells me in broken English, “you are welcome here”. She then prepares a wash basin for me to clean my shoes and feet. As I begin to remove my shoes she then proceeds to wash my feet. I almost cried. I have been here long enough to understand that for someone to even give you water is a big deal, because there is no running water and you only get water when it rains--and it's dry season. So she is using her precious water to wash MY feet. She then escorts me into her home and places a straw mat on the floor for us to sit and we begin to converse. She does not speak English well so I have a translator, but language is really not as big of a barrier as it may seem. I felt like I was having a normal conversation. As we were done conversing, she goes outside and comes back with a giant bag of Avocados (fresh from the tree!) and hands them to us. It is African hospitality to give gifts whenever one has visitors so she gave us a large portion of her food for the day. Everything in me wanted to resist and tell her that she should keep it, but I am also learning that giving is a fundamental principle here. As we excited our home, she escorted us all the way down the mile-long road in the pouring rain—another way African’s show hospitality. I cried on the car ride home because I felt like I just encountered the character of Christ.  I also could not get over how I had learned about African culture and African people in my first home visit. Americans, I, have much to learn from my African brothers and sisters. Just about what is means to be human.

I want everyone to know that Africa is not deprived. Sure, the people I work with make AT MOST 66 cents a day and live in poverty and don’t have the luxury of even running water and electricity, but they are not incomplete. The African puts their value in who they are in the context of their community, not in the self. Because they have EACHOTHER and their Lord, they are full. I do not say this naively, I have witnessed it. The reason we spend our lives chasing happiness is because we are trying to find it within ourselves, and we go through big houses, large paychecks, and luxurious toys to do so.  But what has every single person in the history of the world found in this life? Emptiness, despair, loneliness.

"The isolated self is an abstraction. We become persons only in and through our relations with other persons. The individual self has no independent existence which gives it the power to enter into relationship with other selves. Only through living intercourse with other selves can it become a self at all."

 It is when we realize that we are part of something so much bigger than what is inside us that we can truly be complete.

Two weeks in this place and I’m already changed.

Ali

Adapting

I have now been in Uganda for just over a week but it feels like it’s been months. It’s been easy to make friends; you talk to someone once and then you have a solid conversation every time thereafter. The first step I took onto African soil was quickly followed by tears—because I just couldn’t believe I was here. It was also at that moment my role as a citizen in a country had changed to foreigner, and I was becoming a learner.

Mukono, Uganda on top of Monkey Hill

I sleep under a bed net—Malaria is real. There isn’t toilet paper around, you have to buy your own and carry it with you. Bathrooms are referred to as “the toilet”, and I have very rarely gone to the bathroom in an actually toilet, most are holes in the ground. There is also no air conditioning and showing your knees is extremely immodest.  Hot water is also not around—cold showers all day, every day. Forget throwing your laundry in the washer and doing other things because washers and dryers don’t exist. It’s all hand washing clothes and boy will I have a strong lower back soon! Time is also not a factor in Ugandan culture. It is more important to say hello and spend time with your friends than it is to be on time anywhere.  Americans place value on a person based on how much they can get done in a certain amount of time; I have needed to abandon this mindset.

Road walking home

I have also started my internship working at Compassion International in a rural town called Kisoga. And boy is it rural! It’s a 45 minute drive to where cars are stared at because they are few and far between. I am working in Compassion’s Child Development Sponsorship Program. Every child that is sponsored through Compassion International must attend certain programs and meet certain requirements, all of this happens at this local location. If they do not, for whatever reason, they are at risk of getting kicked out of the program. My case loads consists of those kids who are at risk of being deported from the program. I will be doing lots of home, school, and community visits to talk with the child, figure out what is going on, and figure out a way to keep them sponsored. There are many barriers in this, one being most people in rural Uganda are very poor and don’t speak English. Secondly, I’m white, and let me assure you that some of these people have only seen a handful of whites in their lifetimes.  I am also the only white in the agency.  I have consciously not often thought of my skin color until now. This job is intimidating in some ways but exciting in others because it puts a whole different perspective on social work.

In just a few days I will be moving in with a family for two weeks in Mukono and then commuting to Kisoga every day. I am starting to get used to the stares and assumptions of who I am because of my skin color. I think being a minority is a valuable experience and I will walk away with a different perspective.

First day of internship!

If I could sum up my week here in Uganda, interacting with Ugandans, adapting to the culture, working at Compassion, I have come to the conclusion that at the end of my four months, in a very positive way, I will be a changed person. I couldn't be more excited to see who that person becomes.

Please continue to pray for adaptability and relationships here—for these things are the foundation of being effective in a cross-cultural setting. 

Ali

Preparing for the Unprepared

Today I am leaving for Entebbe, Uganda. Whoa. It has felt like a journey so far away, and now it’s finally here. I know that it’s going to bring difficulties different than what I expect, and also excitements different than I expect. That is why I am choosing to commit in my heart and in my mind to the following things:

·        - Being adaptable

·         -Continually engaging the culture even when it’s hard

·      -   Asking for humility

·        - Being myself

·        - Being intentional with relationships

·         -Never giving up

I will be living in a gated city called Mukono (northeast of the capital Kampala) and doing my senior internship as a social worker. As far as what I will be doing exactly is to be determined when I arrive in the country. This uncertainty would put most people in anx about not knowing what they’re doing, but it quite oppositely excites me—because even if I knew what I was doing, I still wouldn’t really know what I was doing. Flying across the country by myself, not knowing anyone, and entering in to a radically different environment is what I live for. There isn’t much in the world that excites me more than uncertain, wild and adventurous opportunities. All that to say, I’m ecstatic about going to Africa.

I realize it would be easy, and common, for me to have a mindset proud of my education and believing Uganda needs my skill set , but I would be foolish to think that Africa needs me. The truth is that I need Africa more than ever. To teach and mold me into someone who values people first, and that “stuff” is not what defines us. To get me out of my ethnocentric thinking that America knows best and to get me out of my comfort zone. And to allow me to learn about a completely different culture and values, but at the same time realize Africans are human, and they are just like me.

I am thankful for the default prayers of safety and good health while I’m overseas, but I would challenge people to be paralleling those prayers with prayers of adaptability, humility, and adversity—because this is where true growth happens.

“Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever you would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger”

-Hillsong's Oceans

Ali

True Love

As I was driving back from work today, I flipped on the radio to a familiar station and heard the song True Love by Pink.  The rhythm was catchy so I kept the station on. But the first words I heard were “I hate you, I really hate you, so I think it must be, true love.” I was taken back right away and suddenly filled with anger! I was so fired up about this song I had to call one of my friends just to vent to her about how frustrated I was that it was mainstreaming on the radio. I just thought, what kind of message is this sending to the world? And even sadder, does this song really represent how our culture feels about love? Is this what we think love is? Things like “You’re an asshole but I love you” and “I hate every single stupid word you say”.  And what about the message it’s sending to girls about being with a guy who doesn’t treat her right. Lyrics like “Why do you rub me up the wrong way and say the things you say? But without you I’m incomplete.” Or “No one else can break my heart like you”.

I have to cry wolf: this message is WRONG. I am not a relationship expert and I am not in a relationship myself, but I do know enough to say that this is not what love is. Whoever came up with the idea that love is actually about hating someone and dealing with it is wrong. Love is selfless, not self-taking; it is about learning to serve another person, not “I wanna wrap my hands around your neck”; it’s about building each other up, not breaking each other down.  And 1 Corinthians tells us, “Love it patient. Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres.” The world desperately needs, more than ever, for us to love one another with that kind of love. There are too many people running around hating each other nowadays there’s no wonder we have so many family grudges, divorces, and war. I believe the root of every global issue right now is the devaluing of human life—the result of not loving each other.

And for all those girls and women out there who thinks being with someone who doesn’t treat you right is okay, I need to tell you that you’re wrong. And you deserve better than that.  You deserve to be treated of most value—don’t ever settle for less. You are beautiful. Let me say that again, you are beautiful. Just because you have messed up and made mistakes, or have been treated poorly in the past, does not mean you don’t deserve the best.

I am in my last year of college and in no way in the stage of life to have children, but this issue concerns me for babies being born now and for my kids in the future. My desire it to have my girls, someday, be raised in a world that teaches them about what it really means to love.—and to do it well. My desire is that they will not think of themselves less than they are and they will walk upright, knowing they are beautiful, and loved. And for my boys: that they will learn how to treat a woman well, and with respect. That they will understand how the feminine heart is gentle and kind and it needs to be protected.

The purpose of this response is not to bash Pink or any of the songwriters, producers, or radio hosts for making it mainstream. The purpose is both simply to think critically about the message and its validity and draw us nearer to the true meaning of love.