We live in a world of constant pain and tragedy, some of it so outside of our control (earthquakes, tsunamis, tornados) that we can't help but be victims asking an unanswerable 'why'? Other times the tragedy is more nuanced, an endless combination of circumstance and individual choice. The type of conundrum that points to poverty as the root cause of crime but still holds those individuals accountable for their actions.

Living here in Uganda the stark reality of both situations is played out on a daily basis. A region ravaged by nearly 30 years of brutal conflict, nestled between the ever unstable Sudan and DRC, and dependent on agricultural for 80% of the livelihoods is one where the horrific and the common-place come to meet all too often. And this is why we are here, to help overcome or remove these obstacles. Or at the very least we are trying, even if change comes in barely visible forms, surely the future is looking more promising then the past. And while the terrible hardships that take place here should be unacceptable to everyone, there is a certain understanding (accepted or not) that Northern Uganda is coming from such a difficult place that it would be foolish to expect major changes overnight. Abuse, rape, abject poverty are all horrible things, but we can't change them instantly so we keep plugging away. I honestly don't know if that’s the right way to approach the situation, but after years of this type of work I'm not sure I have another choice.

But in the US it's supposed to be different, we may have our faults and problems, but surely they don't compare to other parts of the world. And then you read statements like this:

"Over the past 10 years, more than 20,000 American children are believed to have been killed in their own homes by family members. That is nearly four times the number of US soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan." BBC News http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-15193530

The article goes on to comment on our lack of safety nets and poor public support of an overwhelmed and understaffed child protection system. How we as a country can so poorly serve the only truly innocent victims in our society is not only unconscionable, it’s criminal. The crime of neglect is so prevalent that we spend 6 times the amount on response to these abuses then the actions that might prevent them in the first place. My wife used to work as a social work in Los Angeles and now works on issues of sexual and gender based violence here in Uganda. On her more frustrating days she laments "These crimes have been taking place since the dawn of humankind and continue to happen in every country in the world, and yet here we are throwing a few bucks at a war ravage country and saying where doing to end domestic violence!" After reading the article above I can only agree with her how far we have to go, even right at home.

Am I really so Jaded?

At a certain point in this line of work I think everyone comes to a tipping point. It probably varies drastically for everyone, but if you spend enough of your life in foreign countries trying to help, protect, teach, or monitor various "less fortunate" people you inevitably end up at the tipping point. From where I'm standing now it looks something like this:

1. You've gotten either really good at what you do or really good at making sure no one notices you're bad at it. It doesn't really matter which one it is for the purpose of the tipping point, because if it’s the former than you already know and if it’s the latter you’re probably are too unaware to care. But never the less there is security and some semblance of pride in being at this level of professional "competency" and you are leery to let it go.

2. You've made it high enough up the job latter that you actually have something to lose by walking away. Of course you didn't get in to this type of work for the money or the accolades, but now that your getting some of both it's a nice perk. Plus, it’s not like you have any other marketable skills…how many fortune 500s really need someone to get one ton of chlorine tablets to a remote village in less than 24 hours?

3. You probably spend more of your time behind a computer than anything else, often in an office type setting. No one likes to admit this, and we all tend to hide it from the people outside of our little world so that the mystique remains. But in fact we have become the very Dilbert cartoon we were likely fleeing from in the first place, only with different key buzz words plugged in. One moment you were riding horse back through rebel held territory to bring food to the starving, the next your in slacks and a tie in a board room discussing funding repositioning for fiscal year 2012. It all happened some smoothly you didn't even notice...but it is nice to wake up in a clean bed in an air conditioned room, and after all the time you've put in don't you deserve it?

4. At least once every day you question the vary existence of your job. You have been around long enough to realize very little changes, and the same people and ideas going around in 1960 are going around now, only their packaged and emailed with more pizzazz.

5. You have a sinking feeling that you might be making things worse and not better. You tried to trick yourself into thinking that maybe at least "life-saving" humanitarian work would provide the black and white, right and wrong aspect you were looking for. But after years of corrupt food distributions, politically manipulated medicine, and utterly worthless protection endeavors you are losing hope.

6. You realize that you might be as bad as the bad guys that make money off human misery. The blood diamond merchant, the oil executive cutting deals with genocidal presidents, the aid worker getting paid six figure salaries because someone else can't get food to eat. We are all making money off the back of the poor; some people are just a bit more transparent about it.

And as you realize this it seems like you either have two options, the tipping point:

The Hardening Option: You harden your heart to these nagging questions and doubts and become a cold cynical aid worker until either you can retire to a boozy bliss or die of lung cancer. You may do this by selling out and working for a high paying contractor, the World Bank, or the UN, or you may join MSF and kick ass at what you do, the whole time bitching about the practice of aid in general and looking down on everyone around you. It doesn't matter who you are working for, the point is that you made the plunge and you can NEVER go back to normal life. This is what you do and who you are, for better or for worse.

The Closing Shop Option: Faced with the realities around you and the ambiguities in your soul you simply give up and walk away. You'll always be somewhat connected to the international community, after all, you used to live in the most recently formed country before it was a country. But you can't ever really care about it all again, it takes too much out of you and leaves too many questions. You find something else to take over your drive, open a restaurant or run a travel agency; after all you have plenty of good stories to tell. But your old life will always scare you a little and you'll never be totally settled in your new life.

As for me...I have no idea. I've come to the summit and it seems like which ever way the wind blows will decide my fate, I just hope the universe knows what it's doing.

*I suppose some people do find a third option called academia. You still get to stay involved, but only from a critical impractical stand point. You might "practice" every now and again, but if you fail your able to chalk it up to an academic exercises and still place value it in, which seems like cheating to everyone else. Plus, everyone else hates this group because they are either reminding us of things we want to forget or telling us how we are doing our job wrong from their ivory tower. But hey, at least they have their summers off.

Friendship in the Review Mirror

It’s amazing the places and ways that the memories of friendships sneak up on you. Life being this series of encounters that it is has a way of transitioning from one moment to the next without you even realizing it, only to look back and see how far you have come…or how far you have moved away depending on your perspective. And then at the most random of moments old memories trickle forward like a slow stream of consciousness brought forth by the most mundane aspects of daily life.

I went for a walk in the woods today, alone with my thoughts my mind tends to wonder, ranging from recent Simpson’s episodes (great) to questions about the purpose and structure of prayer (confusing). And yet as I walked alone through the woods I couldn’t help but think of one of my old college roommates.

It was a cold February day in Indiana; we had just had the first big snowfall of the year, one of those snows that cling to the trees as though some divine hand had painted on the snow to cling to every crevice available. And despite the low hanging clouds the snow stands out bright white against the dark bark of the trees, as if for a moment the world has actually become and Ansell Adams photo. The flakes were still slowly tumbling to the ground and it was quiet as I bundled up and headed into the woods. I had my Dad’s old 35 mm camera in hand, with a vain hope that I would somehow be able to capture the moment on film. The forest was quiet, muffled as though wrapped in a blanket, the only sounds being the moaning of the trees when ever a breeze would pass through, burdened under the weight of the fresh snow. I felt alone in the world, enjoying every deep breath even as it hurt my throat going down, freezing my lungs from the inside out. But as I walked I had a strange feeling that I wasn’t alone, circling my gaze every few minutes trying to catch a glimpse of what ever was with me. But it was nothing, and I moved on trapped inside my own head as I lumbered through the drifts and over fallen logs.

And then, out of no where…BAM, flat on my back, snow already tricking down my neck, camera suspending in my outstretched hand trying to keep it out the snow… “Gotcha” he cried, “You’ve been stalked by Ethan” as he let out a wail of excitement and shoveled some more snow on my confused face. “I saw you heading into the woods on my way back from class so I grabbed my boats and have been tracking you for the past 45 minutes!”

“Shit” I mumbled somewhat defiantly.

“Yep, you’d be dead right now if you were pray or something…not that I eat meat, but you get the point…first class stalking!”

Coming to grips with my humiliation of being so easily followed and so incredibly unobservant I shifted the conversation to the brilliance of the forest and off together we went deeper into the woods. The favor was to be returned nearly two years later on a damp rainy fall day in Upper Peninsula Michigan, when my “Gotcha” scream followed with Ethan tumbling into a pile of wet leaves and both of us covered in rain and mud. We could have been five years old at the time, it would have made more sense the way we were acting, but we were in our early 20s and just trying to enjoy what ever moment we were given…and at that moment we were succeeding.

Ethan, I believe, is now hiking and tracking with his wife somewhere on the Appalachian Trail, and I am walking through a forest in central Sweden, a world away from our first adventure nearly 10 years ago. But as I look up at an old tree, one that would make for a good climb and an even better view for tracking, I can’t help but think of my friend….feelings of loss as our lives move in different directions, yet mixed with thankfulness knowing that we made the most of our time together. It’s ok through, know I will see Ethan again, and with that I begin climbing the tree, making sure my trekking skills are still at the top of their game.

As the World Changes...and I shift my focus towards the Super Bowl!

Throughout the world historic events are unfolding to start 2011. A wave of democratic change is sweeping through the "Middle East" starting in unassuming Tunisia and stretching to Egypt, Jordan, and even Lebanon (to varying degrees and with slightly different objectives). And the world is watching to see if these events will resemble the fall of the Berlin Wall (a giant shift in global politics) or the Tienanmen Square protest (strong ideals and good photo-ops, but still results in the same guys in power). In one country in Africa ravaged by 30 years of civil war and under development a new nation is about to be born as the South Sudan referendum chugs along, while on the west coast a country on the brink of peace and economic recovery descends into a violent political stalemate. Add in record floods in Australia, paralyzing snow storms in the US, two ongoing wars, and the ever present tension on the Korean Peninsula it 2011 is shaping up to be a banner year.

So with all of this going on I find my Monday work effort completely distracted by none other then the Super Bowl! I realize that its a day late, but living in Uganda would require a 3:00am start time to catch the game live and seeing as how the Bears couldn't be bothered to make it to the big game then I can't be bothered to wake up at 3:00am. But as an American citizen it is still my duty to watch the game, so a colleague who is far more technologically savvy that I (not too hard to do) has digitally recorded the game and we will watch it after work. Which brings me to why I am distracted. In order to keep the game exciting (we don't get the commercials so the actual game will have to be the focal point) I am avoiding all forms of media that might tip me off to the final score. While this would not be possible in the US, in Uganda (and most of the rest of the world) people don't care about the Super Bowl so no one is really talking about it. But my office is connected to the Internet and much of my work requires me to be online, so every click of the mouse is like playing Russian Roulette with the final score. Even my Gmail account is off limits, who knows what email someone has sent (The 2006 Bears Super Bowl was ruined this way while in Darfur) or what advert is scrolling across the top (in that creepy way that Gmail always knows what your thinking about). So I've attempt to schedule a lot of meetings, catch up on some filing, review some progress reports, and other mundane task that keep me off the computer.

The problem with mundane task is that they are in fact mundane. You know you have to do them as part of your job, but they aren't really all that exciting. But luckily in my distracted Super Bowl state of mind I think have come up with a way to fix this problem... we simply start approaching our mundane work task with the same attitude the most professional football players approach their everyday work task, with unabashed ego and a little creativity.

You all know what I'm talking about. A running back picks up 4 yards on a basic running play (his job is to run the ball, he completed his task) and the guy jumps up, flexes his biceps, and grabs his crotch in one fluid motion that took more time and effort then the actual play. And this happens every play! Make a tackle, do a back flip; catch a pass, cartwheel time; make a block, WWE wrestling move. And everyone does it, from the biggest stars to the 12th string running back who simply managed not to fall down on the kick-off team. Hell, even the kickers do chest bumps when the knock the extra point through.

I used to think that this was all about ego and showing off (and maybe an audition for Dancing with the Stars) but now I realize that it's how they make it through mundane tasks. Ask any human being not living in the USA and they will tell you that football is incredibly boring. Stop, start, short run, dropped pass, punt, holding penalty, and 2 hour of commercials for maybe 30 seconds of watchable athletic achievements. The players have realized this too, so in order to make things more exciting they celebrate everything like their lives depend on it. It's brilliant!

Imagine your average day at the office. Your wrapping up a program meeting and as everyone files out of the board room a fog machine is turned on and everyone jumps up and down as high as they can while screaming and then the best guy on the sales team comes out last scowling and mugging for the cameras!

Complete that report on time; strike a pose

Successfully make copies; climb on top of the copy machine and howl like a wolf

Up Date your Outlook calender; Michael Jordan fist clinch while you glare at the rest of the office!

This way everyone knows that your doing your job (no more performance reviews, just lots of bear hugs and Gatorade baths) and during those free moments in between task you can be thinking of the next exciting way to demonstrate your ability to carry out the responsibilities assigned to you. This is going to revolutionize everything! Time to get that contract completed...I have my dance move already set!

A Random Evening in Northern Uganda

Ten years ago I would have been ashamed to be in a house this nice with this many creature comforts in a place like Gulu. Surrounded by poverty, a community traumatized by decades of war, surely my lifestyle should replicate some type of sacrificial concern for those around me. I am sure I would have been polite to whom ever had been kind enough to invite me in, but lurking beneath the surface would surely have been some level of self righteous pride about my ability to live “amongst” the people. Granted ten years ago I really had very few options but to live amongst the people but it hardly seems relevant when the pride in the actions is taken into consideration…besides, when you can stop living “amongst” the people whenever you want to, what does it really mean any way? But I digress….

So here I am, ten years later, enjoying every moment and thinking about what I would do with the house if I lived here. It’s amazing how well the US government can replicate middle class suburbia in the middle of northern Uganda, right down to the Ethan Allen furniture. They even account for the excess we American’s try to replicate everywhere we go. They’ve got two fridges in here, two! Ok, ones a fridge and the other a freezer, but full size American fridge and freezer, you could fit a cow in there. Now it’s true, we live in a pretty nice house too, likely much nicer then we will ever have when we actually buy a house some day. But two fridges, I could…I’m not sure what I would do with that actually but it would be awesome. And that industrial size generator looks great, no more turning the water heater off when we run our weak two stroke during the day long power cuts. And an AC! I mean, that would be wonderful during the 15 days a year you really need an AC. Ok, this is getting to be a bit much, maybe I should get back to the conversation and stop staring at the house with some type of oddly placed lust.

“This cheese is great, how much exactly did you bring up from Kampala”

“A lot” Mary replies “Everyone told me to stock up before arriving but now I have a fridge full of cheese and it won’t last forever.”

“Well, I am sure we can help you with that, it’s what friends are for” responds Beth.

“Speaking of friends, did Nicole convince USAID to let her come down to Gulu after her trip to Karamoja? It would be really great to see her.”

“I’m not sure” says Mary “but Jonny and I are heading up to Kidepo Lodge to meet her and do some game drives and stay at that amazing lodge, should be great!”

“Why exactly is Nicole going to Karamoja when she is based in Kenya? Shouldn’t someone from USAID Uganda be covering that?” Beth asks.

“That would make sense, but that’s not how the USG works. Nicole runs OFDA and OFDA has left Uganda because it is no longer an emergency. But they still fund some programs in Karamoja so she has to go check in on those” Mary explains.

“Of course, run one country from another one, it’s the American way.”

“Well if it brings Nicole here, plus the trip to Kidepo should be amazing” replies Mary.

I can’t really disagree as I am trying to plot in my head how I can justify joining in the adventure. Although seeing as how we don’t work in Karamoja, nor for USAID, or have any holiday time left, it seems unlikely that Beth and I can make the trip. Maybe something will come up…

Mary’s phone starts ringing again…the thing is always going, a different song for every person. I could never do that; I would be too stressed about what underlying message is being said behind each person’s song. And what if you picked a funny song from an inside joke or something and then “I like big butts” comes on during a work meeting on gender violence, it could happen, I’m sure of it. She has one of those Blackberry phones that do more than my computer. It's probably a dinosaur by normal standards but the things still intimidate me. It’s not so much that I can’t use them, it has more to do with the fact that I know I am only using 10% of their total ability and for some reason that really bothers me. I’m not sure if that’s pride or shame or some weird combo but it still really bugs me and keeps me pleasantly set on my simple unbreakable Nokia with the super handy flashlight on the top. I still argue it is the most useful function a phone has here in Uganda besides actually calling people.

“Is that a serious conversation taking place on a Friday night? It must be because she’s new and hasn’t learned to ignore work calls on the weekend.”

“Such is the life of a US government employee” replies Beth

I find this the perfect opportunity to go in for the last piece of brie while Mary is distracted by work. This way I don’t look like the rude guy who took the last piece and we also avoid the stupid situation of everyone leaving the last piece sitting there all night so as not to appear rude while the wonderful cheese goes to waste, stupid. Just in time, Mary’s all done on the phone.

“What’s the news?”

“There was an attack in Karamoja on IRC while they were driving back from a meeting” Mary informs us.

“Shit”

“Is everyone ok?” Beth ask

Mary shakes her head, “From the early accounts it looks like there were two vehicles involved, one IRC and one rental. The attackers shot at both cars hitting the driver in the first but he was able to keep driving and lost sight of the second car, the rental. There were two IRC expats in the first car but neither was hit”

“How bad was the driver hurt?”

I’m starting to have flash backs to Darfur and trying not to get a bit choked up as I picture our driver trying to get to safety with a bullet through his arm.

“He was wearing a flak jacket and was shot in the stomach so it is only heavy bruising so he should be fine. Both the expats where wearing flak jackets as well. They were able to make it to the military outpost and report, but the second car never made it. Apparently the UPDF reported that all three people in the second car were killed, including a district official who was also attending the meeting” Mary explains.

“When I went out there we had a military convoy with us, which we all thought was a bit excessive at the time but as I was with the UN I just had to roll with it…but now it seems like a good idea” says Beth. “We had flak jackets in the car but no one wore them.”

“Fuck, I remember these types of conversations every day in Darfur, but this seems like a whole different world, like it shouldn’t be possible. And yet it’s only a 4-5 hour drive from here, kinda surreal.”

Mary interjects, “Well apparently one of the individuals involved was the wife of someone who works for the US Gov. so there are questions on if they should have been there at all. A spouse has some of the same security requirements as the person who actually works for USAID. Hopefully everything was approved ahead of time.”

“I wonder if Nicole will still be able to go to Karamoja and come visit Gulu? Somehow I doubt that security is going to approve that trip now.”

“Yea, I guess its goodbye to our long weekend up there on Safari” Mary realizes.

“Well I hope she can at least come to Gulu, it has been way to long since we last saw her. It would really be a good time…”

Again?

What if I started writing on this thing again? I'm not sure if the use of a blog for me was ever about anything more then voicing my opinion in some form or another, but I suppose on some level that is all forms of communication.

I think I stopped blogging when the ridiculously confusing and complicated nature of life got too personnel and writing became too painful and too self indulging. When your head and heart are a bit of a mess sometimes the last thing you want to to at the end of the day and sit and contemplate what it all means while summarizing it into a few short paragraphs.

I'm not really sure why I'm writing now although I am mildly curious if anyone will ever check this blog again without me sending out some type of request for engagement. Never-the-less, here I am rambling away for reasons unknown. I think its time to go.

Here I sit in a tiny WFP airplane, looking out the window with nothing but hundreds of miles of endless desert beneath me, typing away on my computer. Trying to finally get to all of the thousands of emails in my inbox. I pump out response after response only slightly annoyed by the turbulence or the rough landing on the dirt runway as we pond jump from field site to field site. And it suddenly dawns on me…the sheer absurdity that has become my life.

In many ways it’s as though my world has been turned completely upside down. I find helicopter flights mundane, instantly falling asleep as the blades begin to turn. Gunshots outside my office invoke about as much reaction as a dishpan falling on the kitchen floor. Conversation inevitably stray into “peace agreement this…bombing campaign that…” and the idea of not driving my car in town because it might get hijacked is about as big of an inconvenience as the subway train running behind schedule.

On the other hand the sheer joy of walking into a super market in the US is untold. And the amazement of arriving at an airport and seeing how smoothly it runs is something to behold. Everything that I once took for granted is now awe-inspiring or simply stuff of legends (Like Bacon Cheese Burgers and Coronas!) and the mysterious trepidation of Darfur as withered away to “normal” life. I’m not sure if it’s a coping mechanism or just the reality of any place you call home for a year or two…its probably a little of both. I’m not complaining, in fact it’s a bit charming in its own right to feel so comfortable with what I am doing. It’s just funny to realize how quickly things can change…and most likely change back again. Such is the adaptability of humans I suppose, and I think we should all be grateful for that.