war DANCE

gulu is in northern uganda, and is the receiving area for many displaced by the war that continues not so far away. in our time there, i met no one that was actually from gulu. things seemed temporary, as evidenced by NGOs stationed on every block. and yet, there is a permanence about things that weighs heavily on hope. at this time of year, it is sweltering hot, dusty, and the air is stagnant. it could have been my mind running with stories of unimaginable horror, but the town felt volatile. the long term effects of trauma were apparent in those we passed by. physical scars were hard to look at. vacant eyes and detached souls seemed everywhere. it was as though we walked among shells of the people that once were. many times i felt afraid, and i'm still not exactly sure i know what i was afraid of.

i wanted to love all of africa. i wanted to soak in the culture, feel my heart bursting, and struggle to go home. instead, i struggled to sit in the reality that is unfolding in so many places across this huge continent. i felt helpless in even being able to conceive of something that could make any sort of difference. and maybe that was the hardest part ... the realization that i can't do much to help. in fact, many of us with the best intentions, have actually made things worse.

we spent our days interviewing children. we were trying to collect information about their stories to help get them sponsorship through a newly formed organization in seattle. each told a story that one would scarcely encounter in the western world. all had lost at least one, if not both, parents at the hands of the LRA or AIDS. some had been child soldiers. some were the heads of their tiny families. all bore responsibility that should be reserved for adults. i wondered how humanness survives in the midst of such atrocity. i couldn't imagine living a story like theirs, and not being unique.

their tears broke me, and their sweet smiles lifted me. at night, they showed us their traditional tribal dances around the campfire. their eyes were alive ... their laughter carefree ... and for a moment, we were given a glimpse of the people before us ... the acholi ... and with it, the vast realization of all that has been lost in the killing fields.