A Pretty Pair: Carla and Joyce

These were taken on my last day in Gulu. Carla and Joyce are a happy duo. Aren't they wonderful together?

I am in Kigali now, after a very fast few days in Goma meeting with partner organizations for the Man Up Campaign. The complexities and messiness of the DRC, the reality of being there, created a kind of static for me, and I need some time to think. We know that the greatest beauty can sometimes be found among the most horrendous pain and suffering. In Goma I was moved by very young Congolese artists, musicians, filmmakers, dancers and painters, working to actively build peace and promote art and dynamic social change in their country. I spoke with women rebuilding themselves and their communitiies after brutal, brutal rape. I met health care professionals treating the sick and the wounded with passion and grace, all while pushing hard to learn more and improve their own skills. At most moments I simultaneously wanted to leave very quickly but also stay, stay, stay much longer to dig deeper, and do more. I will write more about it soon. For now, happy pictures of Joyce and Carla. I'm off to explore Kigali before another Man Up meeting. Love to you!

First Chores, Then Play

Someone Lost A Tooth Today

A Smile For Your Day

I'm sorry. I didn't fall off the face of the earth. I was just a tad sick and unable to do much internet for the past week. But I'm better now, and I have a little smile for your day. This was taken my first day in Gulu, just after I arrived. Joyce has grown! She is healthy and strong, and sassy as ever. Her shyness has disappeared, and I can hardly sit for 5 minutes with Carla and the other women before being pulled and tugged at with choruses of "Aimee, you just come play! Aimee, you just come play now!" The game of choice is a hybrid of monkey in the middle and dodgeball, played with a soft sock ball, and I must say, I'm getting quite good! Joyce has a killer throwing arm.

Carla\s health is good, and the family's most pressing problem now is getting by now that Joyce's father is gone. To my delight and amazement, chickens that I bought last year were clucking away in the yard, and Carla\s structure for the charcoal was built and holds a prominent space in the courtyard, housing the charcoal she has been selling. It is a _very_ slow process, however, and it will take some time before this actually supports the family. (We have been discussing new and innovative business practices, like making a sign for the side of the road, and perhaps selling the charcoal where others are not. Hmmm...) I feel that all these issues are surmountable, though, and overall I'm very heartened. I'll spend as much time with them as I can before leaving for Soroti on the 21st.

I'm sorry I have not been in touch. I know many of you have been waiting to hear from me, especially about Joyce. I caught an African Bug...or rather, the bug caught me, and I have been in my hotel room (thank god for my clean hotel room with flushing toilet, hot shower, and mosquito net without holes) for the past 3 days, a sick puppy. Today I'm feeling better and have made it up the road to the Acholi Inn, where I am sitting outside and using their wireless internet -- so fancy -- while I recover a bit. Doctor Jolanna, the Czech doctor I met two years ago while caring for Joyce, saw me this morning and gave me some new medicine and eating instructions, so I"m well on the mend! It was nice to see her familiar and friendly face, too.

I have a lot of Paper to Pearls work to catch up on, so it will be a busy week or so, but I'm looking forward to seeing the women I have worked with in the past, again. Especially those at Awer. Most have left the camps now and are back in their villages, working their fields. As always, my objectives for the trip have shifted dramatically since I arrived, but I enjoy the fluid and ever-changing nature of this work (even if it can sometimes be frustrating!), and the kind of thinking and response it requires of me. I learn so much in each single encounter I have here, and only hope I have within me a fraction of as much to give in return.

I miss you all and think of you every day!

Love and "Greetings" from Gulu,

Aimee

Love and Joy(ce)

Today is Valentine’s Day and I miss Minh. After a day of working with TAKS and Paper to Pearls, I decided to head to Joyce’s house for a short visit. After all, there is no one in Gulu I love more! I walked in from town and turned down the dusty road toward her home. Four small boys raced bicycle rims past me, pushing the metal circles with sticks and shouting playfully at the funny “muno” (white person), in their neighborhood. In a moment, another child raced out to the road, and seeing me, ran back from where she came, crying “Abalo! Joyce! Abalo! Joooooyyyyyce!!!!!” I slowly made my way up the path, but within another instant there were the children, flying toward me, a tangle of arms and legs and ripped dresses and toothy grins. Joyce was toward the back, but pushed her way up to the front of the pack, and before I knew it she had leapt into my arms, her head on my shoulder, panting and out of breath from the sprint. Her small hand played with my hair for a moment before I put her down. The other children ran ahead to tell Carla that I was there, but Joyce stayed by my side chit-chatting in Luo, so much to tell about the day’s activities!

I spent the rest of the afternoon playing with all the children outside. There were many rounds of the perennial favorite: “everybody jump,” which is exactly as it sounds, and which we transformed into a type of “simon says” hybrid. They all sang their ABCs and several nursery songs, and I began teaching “You are My Sunshine” and a version of “London Bridges Falling Down”.

For me, though, the best part was watching Joyce return every so often to Carla, just to make sure that she was watching. Carla, preparing the evening meal would smile and nod at Joyce, acknowledging her performance and games and antics, and Joyce would continue, right in the game with the other children.

I have thought of this scene all evening long. The truth is, many people have come together in order to ensure the brightest possible future for this special child. We can provide food and shelter, the very best education, mentorship. We can support ultimate self-sufficiency. We can care, adore, pray, and even love Joyce. But this kind of love, this kind of support – the genuine, constant, non-wavering, daily, deeply rooted love of a mother is not something we could ever, ever give her, no matter how much we wish it possible (and if you know me, you know I have wished it possible!!).

There was never a question in my mind that Joyce needed to stay in Gulu, with her family, with her people. Despite this knowledge of my mind last year, my heart spoke differently. I wanted her with me. I loved her. Not a day passed in the US when I didn’t think of her, speak of her, yes, at times cry for her. And I think that this is mostly because, although I knew she was being cared for, I hadn’t seen her loved. Carla has changed that. Joyce has a real family now. She has someone who is constantly looking out for her best interest – not because she is obligated, but because she cares, and she loves.

I will always love Joyce, but I can already feel a change. Maybe it is the sadness and heaviness lifting. Carla told me that Joyce is “here” – and she placed her hand over her heart. I understood, maybe too well. But the most beautiful part is that Carla is also here, in Gulu, beside Joyce as she goes to sleep and wakes up, prepares for school and returns, suffers from her sickness and succeeds in staying healthy. She is here, and will continue to be here as Joyce lives her life and grows.

In as many ways as I can be, I will be with her, too. I will love her in all the ways I can. But now when I am at home in America and I think of Joyce I will see her in my mind’s eye running over to Carla for assurance and a smile and then returning to me, for an afternoon of games.

Reunion

I spent 4 full days in Gulu before I saw Joyce. I wanted to go and meet her family together with Grace, her mentor, and Grace wasn’t available until Saturday. With so much aid and so many people in and out of their lives, it was important to me that Joyce and Carla, her stepmother, see Grace and I as a team and understand that we work together.

When Saturday finally came, I tried to keep my expectations low. Very low. Perhaps Joyce wouldn’t remember me. She is, as they say here, a very stubborn child, and she is four. Chances were high that she would hide behind Carla or not want to interact with me at all, be shy or a bit scared, or just stubborn. For this, I was prepared (or so I told myself). Also, I tried to remember, she could be sick or not doing well. Although I had been told otherwise, I am not sure I really believed it.

As Grace, her 4 year old daughter, Laura, and I approached the home, she filled me in on the details of Joyce’s life. Within moments though, I saw for myself. Joyce was outside playing with her friends when we arrived: boisterous, lively, jumping up and down and up and down and up. In an instant we were spotted and suddenly a mess of 3-6 year olds were tearing toward us at breakneck speed. Joyce went straight for Grace. Once in Grace’s arms she looked over at me. Her eyes got big and she smiled, then buried her face in Grace’s shoulder. Grace spoke to her for a minute and then put her down. “Who is this? Grace asked in English. “Aimee” Joyce said with a small smile. Shyly, she walked over, took my hand, and we walked to the house.

I had never met Carla before. When I was here last year, her Aunt Mary was caring for Joyce. Shortly after I left, Carla, Joyce’s father’s second wife, arrived and began to care for Joyce. For a short time the two women shared the responsibility, but eventually Joyce was left solely in Carla’s care. Mary went back to Pader, and Carla stayed in Gulu with Joyce, going to Pader every few weeks (with Joyce) to tend her garden there.

Instantly, I liked Carla. She greeted us with warmth and hospitality. She smiled. She swooped Joyce up into her arms and absent-mindedly cleaned the dust off he face. She spoke of Joyce with the pride and utter adoration of a mother, adding with feigned irritation that Joyce is, indeed, “a very stubborn child,” and then erupting in laughter. We sat for a long time visiting, Grace translating and chatting between us, Joyce staying close to Carla, moving to Grace, and eventually climbing up into my lap.

I noticed that the home was clean. Spotless, clean. Mattresses, clothes, and playthings hid behind a freshly hung, cheery curtain. Pots and a kettle were neatly placed in the corner. There was nary a mosquito to be seen. This was still the same one-room, concrete block, tin roofed place she had lived last year, half the size of most modest bedrooms in the US, and housing 6 people, but somehow for the first time, it seemed like a home.

Joyce was clean. The sore on her arm is still problematic, but was covered with a fresh bandage. Her ears were not oozing, her nose was not dripping. She had gotten taller, put on weight. Her eyes shined. Dare I say it? This beautiful child looked healthy.

I left with Grace to go run errands and pick up staples for the family. For the past year, we have been supporting (through Grace and Invisible Children), Joyce and her family in their most basic needs: food, rent, and of course Joyce’s schooling and medical needs. This has been fundamentally necessary in order to bring her and the family to a point of stability, from which they can move forward.

It has clearly worked. Carla will be taking a class on money management and business before starting her own small venture selling charcoal in the very near future. The family will then begin providing for their own basic needs, and we will continue to support Joyce’s education and medical needs.

As we moved about town picking up rice and beans, sugar and flour, I chatted more with Grace, and played with Laura. We returned to the home to quickly drop off the goods, and I asked Carla if I could return to visit during the week, without Grace. She smiled and nodded yes, of course. Then I turned to Joyce and asked Grace to ask her the same thing in Luo: could I come back during the week to visit and play? Would that be ok? Joyce paused for a moment, looking at Carla, Grace, and then me.

“You come back tomorrow,” she said.

The Grindstone

So I'm down to the wire. Really. In three weeks I will be done with school (and I will be 29!!) but before then I have a master's project to complete and another big paper to write. I am definitely, without question, a master procrastinator -- and this year, with these papers, it is no different. Ugh.

I mean, I definitely have been working hard all semester, but I don't know if I have been serious. Seriously serious. Like I was in the beginning of my program. Now is the time.

This past week, as I've been working, I have been daydreaming of that night in the not-so-distant future when M and I can go out to dinner and then walk around some fancy schmancy part of town with the white lights glittering (it is that time of year, so pretty). We will have crepes for dessert and then browse the bookstore and craft shop and I will think about things like wedding invitations and pleasure reading, and maybe my next trip to Africa, without feeling guilty. And without having all.that.work.sitting. right.there. over.my.head.

But until then, while I am being seriously serious (and I am!), I think I will leave you with some links. They are my procrastination, really. But maybe you need procrastination, too?

I made this delicious pumpkin cranberry bread twice over Thanksgiving weekend. You should definitely try it.

Matidi's photos are always stunning.

Go see whose prints are up at Tiny Showcase.

If you like ceramics or pottery, window shop and look at all the beeeeauuuutiful things here and here. You can also go on a mini-vacation out to a farm, right here. Ahhhhh.

And if you want to keep me company in the land of seriously serious
(seriously nerdy! m would say) ....well then....welcome! Here's where you will find me while I am working:

It feels like I am always on this website. If you have any interest at all in human displacement or forced migration, everything you ever possibly wanted to know is located at this site. This is where I often get lost and sidetracked and soon it is 2 hours later and I have forgotten what it is I was originally looking for. Hmmm...maybe m is right about that nerdy thing.

This briefly addresses the main topic of my work this year: child-mothers. Very generally, I am focusing on educational opportunities for them and their children.

I use the reports, articles and research off of this site, too. Pretty amazing resources on health, human rights, trauma, and psychosocial work. Another place I can spend hours.

And to keep me motivated and moving forward? These dear images from last year:

People at Awer IDP camp waiting for their food rations.

Little Joyce, in a moment of wonder.
My incredible friend Achiro (who is now back in school!), and her beautiful daughter, Miriam

Alright. That is all for now, friends! Back to work. Love to you all...

Hitting the Books

It is crunch time for me at school. Time to buckle down and get serious. But I'm not the only one studying. Look at our little student! And that belly... Thank you so much to Tiffany and Grace for the updated photos. Planning my next trip out there for a few different reasons - none more exciting than seeing Joyce. But more on that soon...

Update :: Joyce

My sweet and spunky girl is growing and I am so, so, so very happy! Many of you have been asking about Joyce: her health, her family, her future. It has been difficult to answer many of those questions because the answers were sometimes elusive, and a good (responsible) plan challenging to put into place from over here. Oh, Uganda. Oh, Joyce.

But now...now we have a plan. Of sorts, at least. And Joyce is not in limbo. And I have hope.

Joyce's TB is gone, and her HIV is under control. She is in school! All these things began before I left, but they remain stable. Honestly, this is somewhat miraculous and due to the hard work and dedication of many amazing people. Joyce's burns wounds are being actively treated and she goes to Gulu Independent Hospital regularly for specialized care.

Joyce's Aunt Mary and her stepmother, Carla share the role of "mother" and care for Joyce with all they have, trading time (a few weeks at a time) to each return to their small gardens and homes in a different district. She is surrounded by a slew of cousins at all times, including Emma, Mary's 15 year old daughter, who shared hours and hours and hours with me at the hospital drawing, playing games with Joyce, and teaching me about her culture, language and family. Joyce is very loved.

And school! Preschool has never been so great, and her teachers report that she is doing very well and likes it, too. But best of all, Joyce has a new friend, Grace.

Ocwee Grace is a mentor/guide/friend to Joyce and her family. She is an accomplished and loving Acholi woman who works with Invisible Children, who is partnering to help support Joyce. Since Invisible Children already has a mentoring system for the students in their secondary school program, this worked well. Most importantly, though, Joyce adores Grace.

Grace oversees Joyce's educational, nutritional and medical needs, works with the family to ensure that they understand all aspects of her specialized care, and assists where/when necessary. Right now she also oversees helping with the family's basic food needs. Without immediate proper nutrition Joyce wouldn't get better.

However (and this gets me excited!), we're working on the possibility of supporting Joyce's family in setting up an income generating activity/small business venture so their only sustained assistance will be Joyce's hospital bills and schooling. Jimmie and I are going to be doing everything we can to help make this a reality.

In the meantime, we hear from Grace (through the ever patient and fabulous Tiffany) that Joyce is "growing very fat", going to school, and always making her laugh.

Music to my ears.

I want to thank you all so much for asking about Joyce, remembering, caring... I miss her somethin' awful (hope to get back to see her very, very soon), but nothing is better than knowing that she now goes to sleep at night with a full belly, next to a loving family, with medical needs met, and a day of school awaiting. Who knows what the future may hold....but it looks bright to me!

(Thanks to Tiffany and Grace for the updated photos)

Missing This Funny Face...

so, so much. Trying hard to get back into the swing of things here. Trying to prepare for Bosnia, too. Slowly, slowly. Or, I guess, quickly, quickly.

Sigh.

Favorite quote of the week:

"Wandering around has changed me more than I thought, I am not me anymore. At least, I am not the same me I was." -Che Guevara

I've wandered around quite a lot before, but I've never felt changed in quite the same way...so deeply. (Photo courtesy of James -- thank you!)

We Love To Read!

A Big HELLO to You from Africa!

Joyce will be leaving the hospital sooooo soon. We are (clearly) very excited!

A Few Weeks Later

Once again, it's been a while. Sorry!!! The past weeks have been chaotic, and there hasn't been power for several days. The lack of power means that all internet cafes are running on generators and are even less reliable than usual...if that is possible! I have been both busy and relaxed in Gulu. Here, you "hurry up and wait" and then run around like crazy once things fall into place.

Can you believe that this is Joyce? These pictures were taken early last week, and things have changed even more since then. I promised to tell you what I have been doing and how I became involved in her care, and I haven't forgotten...

The first week that I was in Gulu I found myself taking Philomena, a one year old baby to the hospital for severe malnutrition. Her mother, living in one of the IDP camps, was severely depressed and had stopped caring for her child and producing breast milk. I was asked to accompany them to the hospital, in what would become an extended process of connecting mother and child to the appropriate long-term assistance. But this is a different story.

After several hours at the "best hospital in Gulu" (more on this later, too!) we sat outside waiting for multiple test results. Knowing that this could mean another few hours, I went to settle myself under the nearest tree when I saw a familiar face -- Jimmie Briggs!

Jimmie and I met when I was living in Cambridge. He came to Harvard for a brown bag lunch discussion of his book "Innocents Lost: When Child Soldiers Go to War" and we hit it off immediately. We have been corresponding since. I knew that he would be in Gulu, but I didn't know why, and we hadn't yet connected. Yet here we both were, with small, sick girls in our arms, at the hospital. It is a very small world.

And so I met Joyce. She was accompanied by Ryan , Adam, and Jimmie, who were determined to help her to the best of their ability. They had met her earlier that day with her caregiver, Patrick. We spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for results, singing Acholi children's songs, and talking about the beauty and pain that is Gulu.

Over the next few days, Adam, Jimmie and Ryan committed themselves to Joyce's full and extended care. The problem was, they had to return to the US immediately. I, however, had just arrived. I was committed to working on Schools for Schools,and some personal research, but I didn't have a firm 9-5. I was flexible. I had just been in Arua working on family and community oriented, culturally appropriate psychosocial services. I was also quickly falling in love with Joyce.

So here we are, a couple weeks later. I work with Joyce's family, essentially as a liason to Jimmie, Ryan and Adam. I work with the doctors and nurses, meet with HIV/AIDS NGOs, ensure Joyce's care is up to par, navigate Ugandan culture and health care, and plan with her family for her extended needs (school, clean housing, food, medical services, etc). Oh, and I also play. A lot. Joyce has transformed in the past few weeks, and we color, drum, dress the African baby doll, and somehow communicate despite the fact that I don't speak 3-year old Luo and her English is limited to "baby" and "I am fine". She loves sharpening the colored pencils, playing clapping games, and putting her "baby" to sleep. She is a three year old girl. I hope that as soon as I am back home and have faster internet I can share video clips and pictures that show you this and really introduce you to Joyce. Tragedy does not preclude joy or possibility.

I am so grateful for support I have received from friends who have been here much longer than I -- friends who have known her family, friends who know Uganda. They make this possible. I will be leaving Uganda in less than one month. The thought moves me to tears, but my ultimate goal is to be unnecessary and unneeded. And to return. To visit Joyce.

Joyce

Dear Friends,

I'm sorry that I have been silent for this past week, since I have been in Gulu. My life has been full and busy, challenging and changed, difficult and filled with immense beauty all in one breath. I struggle to be able to share this with you fully. I will try slowly, as I did before, by sharing small stories. Hopefully, these stories will, over time, paint for you a picture.

To begin, I would like to give to you a story of one child who has stepped into my life. It is my hope that you will hold her, with all the strength and gentleness that you can find within you. Long before I came, others were here, and others knew her. My friend James wrote on his blog last summer about Joyce. His words are eloquent, personal and true and so, to begin Joyce's story, I will quote him. His story is called "Joyce, a war in microcosm". Joyce is just over three years old now, but she should have died before her second birthday. Two years ago...

"the taxi van that she was riding in with her mother and aunt was attacked by LRA soldiers. She is the only survivor.

The van was traveling the rutted dirt road from Pader, where Joyce lives, to Kitgum, where her father is stationed as a soldier in the UPDF, the Ugandan government army. About two miles out of town the van was ambushed. Bullets pinged and thudded into its metal sides and broke through its windows. The driver swerved into the tall grass by the side of the road but the rebel soldiers were ready. They fired into the van mercilessly. Most everyone had been shot before they set flames to the vehicle and watched it burn.

Joyce was still alive inside, and unharmed. Her mother and aunt were not moving, could not save her. She wriggled free from their heavy bodies and escaped the burning taxi. I imagine she screamed as she ran toward the road – tears soaking her vision and terror pumping her small legs.

The rebels saw her. They ran after her, catching the toddler easily and dragging her back to van. Perhaps the inferno was too hot, or maybe they wanted to try something new, but they didn't throw Joyce back into the van. Instead they laid her on the ground and covered her with the brown grass of Uganda's dry season. And they put a match to it.

Flames rose and burned down into the pile of grass, quickly turning the kindling to glowing red embers, and these sinking down to Joyce's smooth young skin. Once again she struggled free. Once again she ran for the road. And once again she was caught, dragged back, and thrown into a flaming pile of grass.

The government army was on its way and the next time Joyce got up to run away the rebels retreated instead of giving chase. Joyce was severely burned over 45% of her body. The muscles of her left arm were charred and useless and the skin of her face was falling away from the bone. The soldiers rushed her to the nearest hospital for first aid. Later she would be transferred to Gulu for a series of surgeries.

Left without her mother, Joyce is cared for by her sister and the women of her village. She looks small for her age, and though noticeably thin she does not seem malnourished. Her scars are thick and dark, swirling like flames up her arms and covering her hands. Her forehead is high and rough from burns, hair coming in small tufts over the top of her head. Scars create a mask of tissue on her face, out which she stares with serendipitous brown eyes. Her manner is quiet, reserved but not fearful, sadly thoughtful.

You might think, after spending some time with the two year old, that she is always contemplating something sad. Perhaps the depth of depravity to which man can fall. Or maybe that is what you contemplate while you watch her.

I asked her father why the rebels had done this, why they would attack a van full of civilians, and why, when a child who can pose no discernable threat to anyone breaks free, would they risk the extra time and effort to see her tortured and killed. His answer was, basically, that is the nature of this war.

Kony and his band of children are notorious for attacking innocent civilians. The victims are abducted or tortured or killed – sometimes all three. And the motivations behind such attacks, and the LRA's continued terrorism in general, are sorely enigmatic. Victims are left to ruminate on the senselessness of their ordeals and the government is stuck trying to fight or make peace with an army that has motivations beyond sane comprehension.

For this reason, among less forgivable ones, the UPDF is often late in heading off attacks like that on Joyce's taxi. When not met head on by the enemy, government forces arrive in time only to clean up the mess that the rebels assuredly leave behind. Joyce, in a somber but important way, is lucky. The army was there to save her life.

Much as Joyce's story is symbolic of this war, it is also predictive of what will continue if the world does not act to end this conflict. The Ugandan government is keenly aware of international attention, and you and your family and your friends and your elected officials can give them the attention necessary to spark decisive action. The wheels of peace are turning in Uganda. All they need is some grease. Be the grease."

Fast forward 8 months. Joyce's father is in a neighboring town with the army. She is cared for by her aunt and some extended family, and a man named Patrick who has vowed to watch over her. Patrick is a pillar of his community, with a story of his own that would shake you to your core. I met Joyce through happenstance or fate, or maybe God...however you choose to believe...when one day I was at the hospital with another sick child. She was accompanied by Patrick and three other gentlemen, to whom I will introduce you shortly. She tested positive for TB and HIV that day, as we all sat in the sun waiting for results and results and more results for these two small beings -- and yet again the world changed.

Joyce has been in the hospital for several days now, and she is getting stronger. I am working on her behalf, as an intermediary of sorts....but more on this soon. For now, love to you all, and (I hope) your love to Joyce.