Football

The World Cup. Where do I begin? Perhaps the best place is in the men's restroom at Ellis Park Stadium in Johannesburg on the night of the 18th.

As I stood at the stahl, taking care of business, some of the men next to me began to chant. "USA...USA...USA, USA, USA," and so we stood there, about thirty of us, some with our faces painted, some with U.S. flags draped around them like capes, some dressed as 18th century pioneers, and cheered for our country as about ten Slovenians tried fruitlessly to drowned us out.

I think that's it. I think that's a decent symbol of the type of character and pride the World Cup brings out. I don't know that I've ever felt so proud to be an American. As our national Anthem was played, my family and I screamed out the words at the top of our lungs, not to impress the British fans that surrounded us (and yes, one of my brothers did call them "Bloody Brits" in a small dispute we had), but because the World Cup brought out something deep within us, which I think might have been a pride, a thankfulness, a gratitude for the land we've been allowed to grow up in. I think a similar pride was felt in all the countrymen of the competing teams. We watched as English fans flicked us off in support for the Queen's land, heard Slovenians tell us Yanks to, "GO HOME," heard the echos of the Dutch as they boomed the voice of, "Holland...Holland...Holland" off the stadium walls, and got drenched in a shower of beer as Mexico celebrated a 2-0 victory over France.

The World Cup was more than I ever could have expected and my heart was entrenched in the game like I couldn't have anticipated. Nowhere was this as evident as in our last day in South Africa, where we sat right by the field as USA battled Slovenia. When the Yanks went down 1-0 with an early Slovenian goal, I was frustrated, angry even. Then, when they slid a second goal in, to go up 2-0, I was deflated. My family sat next to me, American flags on their backs and faces, vuvuzelas now resting silently on the ground. There were no answers at half-time. But what history remembers, sport sometimes reveals, and at the onset of the second half, the spirit of America swept through the stadium; a spirit of courage, discipline, and a never-say-die attitude. That's the sound that reverberated through the countless fans wearing red, white, and blue as our early second-half goal exploded in the back of the net. That's the aroma that wafted through Johannesburg as we tied the game with a late second-half goal, and that's the sight you could have seen had you looked into Ellis Park the night of the 18th when America struck a third straight goal in that same half. It's true, this last goal was called off on a weak foul call by the ref, but the spirit remained. As we walked out of the stadium, as red, white, and blue swamped the streets that cool evening, that's the spirit that flowed with us. For a 45 brief minutes, this spirit was accompanied by something else I've rarely seen. Absolute pandemonium!

Just Around the River's Bend

In Deuteronomy 31:6 God says that He’ll never leave us nor forsake us. I’m left though, trying to catch this elusive God like a 3rd-grader trying to catch a cold the day before the science fair (in which case he does not catch the cold, but instead, his dad pumps him full of scientific jargon like, “luminescence” and “evaporation” and tells the kid to use these words, when the kid has a hard enough time trying to use the new stand-up urinals that were recently installed at school which were clearly put in with 6th graders in mind). All this to say, that sometimes it’s hard to see God.

Other times, it’s not.

This could easily be a page written about how my house got broken into a month ago, my belongings were stolen, and I was left with a feeling of dismay, discouragement, and disillusion. Instead, this is a page written about my neighbor, Mr. Okello Alex, and how God shows up big in people sometimes.

To make a long story short, over a month had passed since my home was robbed, and though I had moved on and accepted the loss of some belongings, my neighbor had not. Unbeknownst to me, Alex continued to keep an ear open about my missing things. He let my sadness and my frustration sink into his own heart and he prayed, and thought, and though he didn’t tell me, he talked to people and searched.

When God was with the people of Israel, He manifested Himself in fire and smoke. Then, He was seen in the flesh as Christ. I think today, at times, His Spirit manifests this presence in the actions and words of His servants. Sometimes these servants mess up and don’t display His glory, but other times, we se what’s it’s like to be…somehow greater than what we currently are.

Alex came over to my house one night, late. He said he needed to talk to me. “Hunter, tonight, with my own eyes, I have witnessed your things!” He told me he had found many of my stolen items. He told me about how he had tracked down the person who had taken them, and how he had gathered the authorities (a side note about the “authorities.” Now, my brothers are never too short on things to say about the authorities, and I’m sure they would have a heyday about the ones here. Let’s just say that as the report was being written and the account told, there was clearly a bottle of gin being passed around (at 10am) that made the story more than a little contradictory) to search the house. I think he may have been happier even that I was!

Sometimes you meet people, even if it’s only briefly, whose very presence is like a fire to frozen hands, breaking you free to move and think and dream and rejoice as you haven’t in a long time. I’m grateful to Alex for the things he’s helped recover. But more than that, I’m grateful FOR Alex, and that he would never ask a 3rd-grader to use the word luminescence.

Welcome Back, Welcome Back, Welcome Back

Right when I started teaching, a girl in the front, Monica Ruth, spoke up. “Sir,” she said. “I don’t think we should have class today. We’re not very happy.” “Why is that?” I asked. But she kept quiet. Then, fifty other girls began explaining it to me all at once. The girls hadn’t done an acceptable job mopping their class, and they hadn’t picked up the grass cuttings as they had been instructed to. So they were beaten. As I listened, I noticed about one-forth of the class were on the verge of tears, if not crying already. Some of the girls had welts on their arms and legs, but I think most were just kind of emotionally shaken. So what could I do? I told them to suck it up and get their algebra work out. Ha! I did not. We didn’t have class. But this is a problem. I mean, I know about “sparing the rod and spoiling the child,” and as I look back on my own childhood I note that I wasn't exactly "spared" very often, and that might have been a good thing. But where’s the line between instructing in love and releasing anger and pride on one’s pupils? The girls will be ok, but did they really learn what that person was trying to impress upon them? Or did they only learn anger and fear and resentment? My brother has been with me here for the past week, and it’s been great. We’ve been walking to the market, he’s been riding a bike on the village roads, and the amount we’ve both been sweating has caused me to be reminiscent about being a student of one, Coach Ed Fox in Carroll High School’s wrestling room. It’s been such a blessing having him here. But if he gets out of line, I know now which person to take him to to put him back on the right path!

sickness

I cringed as I lay on the hospital bed. One hand was hidden somewhere, buried by the sweat-covered sheets that lay on top of me. The other was resting in the hand of my nurse. In the coming days, I would be treated by people from Germany, Belgium, Zimbabwe, Uganda, Great Britain, and Holland, and I would learn that as sickness is universal, so too is a heart for the sick. I had graciously been able to travel down to Kampala with the help of an amazing friend and the Peace Corps. I checked into a room at one of the nicest and most able facilities in Uganda. A facility, that is perhaps better than the free facilities in the U.S., but nowhere near the nicest hospitals in the States. I had a fever that ebbed and flowed, showing itself glaring and menacing by night, but then calm and inviting by day. When the night would return, so too would a pounding headache, weak muscles, throbbing joints, dehydration, and at times, muscle spasms. "You family is far," my nurse said. "So for now, you'll be a part of mine." I wonder what it is that makes people selfless. I wonder if its what they've been taught and raised to do, or maybe, someone else was selfless and caring towards them, and they saw how good, how rich it is. Is it our true nature? Or is it the very antithesis of our nature, and so, obtained through trial and struggle. I wonder what it is that makes friends and family 8000 miles away, even people I've never met before, pray with all they have, for something they can't even see, can't even touch. Job said that he would praise God no matter what, no matter if God gave, or took away. Sometimes though, i wonder if i don't get confused on when God is taking away, and when He is giving. Has this past week and a half been a taking away? Of health, happiness, comfort, security, warmth. Or has God been giving me assurance, peace, realization of His love through others, a reminder of his awesome power.

Sometimes, I guess, I just wish His gifts felt a little better!

I can't thank Him enough, nor can I thank those people who prayed, showed concern, thought, or even called. I was diagnosed with African Tick Bite Fever. I guess, kind of a cool name once i get though the part where I felt like death. Each day gets a little better, and though I wish this trend of getting better would go on for the rest of my life, something tells me it wont. But when it shifts, I'm thankful to know I've got friends, family, and literally a world full of people I know who are good, and caring, selfless, and kind. Thanks.

Just a little Bit

That which I’ve come to enjoy:
-A dirt path stretched under foot as I run past cattle being herded and hut roof being thatched.
-Fresh milk.
-A cucumber from the garden after a run
-The ever present sound of Ugandans laughing
-Schoolboys in bright pink school uniforms
-The old moozay who sweeps my compound, speaks no English, but is always willing to sit with me for a while.
-An afternoon rainstorm on a tin roof.
-Electricity and running water.
-The lady who recognizes me in the market and sells me good tomatoes
-Seeing quadruple the amount of stars I thought were in the sky, and wondering if this is the same sky Abraham, Moses, and David watched.
-Milk tea
-Candlelight
-The British
-That strapping 30 chickens to the handlebars of your bicycle is perfectly acceptable.
-That I never see anyone wearing a Detroit Pistons t-shirt.
-The knowledge that people can live hard lives and still be happy.
-Mangos
-An encouraging word, from someone who goes out of their way to give it.
-Watching little kids jump up and down as they pump water from the well.
-Having no clue what Im doing, but struggling to do it well.

That which I’ve come to detest:
-Flies
-Those who lack empathy and do not seek understanding, myself included.
-The smell of a hut foor that has just been smeared with cow manure
-Alcohol distilled from maize.
-Adults who attempt to make their peers laugh by running with the white guy whom they don’t understand, because it’s easier to make fun than to care.
-The word, “munu”
-Goat testicles
-Sweating in bed.
-Not knowing.
-Feeling as if you’re always the butt of jokes.
-Having no privacy.
-Not being able to watch the Lord of the Rings marathon at Christmas time.
-Questioning whether relationships are genuine.
-Not having school mascots.
-Going an entire year without hearing someone say, “Boiler Up.”
-Not being able to hug the people I love.
-The British.
-Never seeing anyone sport a really good mohawk.
-Knowing God is near, and yet missing Him completely.

I got a cat. I’ve never been a cat person, and honestly, I don’t know why I got a cat. The other day, I literally had to save Gammoudi from a tree. As if I were both an old lady and a fireman, I struggled to get him down from a branch 20 feet up at midnight. It’s been all right though. Actually, right now I have two cats as I’m taking care of my friend Mike’s cat, Tiara, as well. They’ve taken over one room of my house, they eat eggs like that Japanese guy eats hotdogs, and Im able to converse with them about as well as I was able to converse with girls in the fifth grade, which means there’s not a lot of verbal communication back and forth between us. But, I like them, Im grateful for them, and if I can train Gammoudi to cook his own eggs and wash my dishes, we’ll be in business.

A few weeks ago, I got into a big argument with the administration at my school. I had been training with about 10 of the students to run a 5k race that one of my colleagues was hosting at a nearby school. The girls were running nearly every day with me (yes, I sprinted past them at the end), worked hard, and then at the last minute, the school told me they would not pay to transport the girls the 40 kilometers to the race. I was VERY upset. I said some things I probably shouldn’t have, and some things were said about me. I don’t know why I mention this, except to say that… it’s really hard to forgive sometimes. I know that I should, but I just… can’t. I feel like this probably isn’t an unusual circumstance by any means – getting into a disagreement with one’s superiors. I just don’t know why its so hard to do what I know I should, which is let go. As far as the race, the girls didn’t go, but they were able to get t-shirts from the race, so they were about as happy as could be. I guess it all worked out. Plus, I got to absolutely dominate some girls on our 2-mile runs, so I got that little confidence booster as well. Ha!

On Beans

I got a Christmas card the other day from a friend.  In it, she wrote, “Every place, culture, and community of people has their won special qualities.”  As I read this, I was sitting outside my house under the shade cast by the overhanging of my tin roof.  I thought about this statement, and wondered what qualities I was getting to experience.  At the time, it was 95 degrees F, and the way I was swatting away flies looked as if I was creating a new dance routine for those dancing, magic brooms in fantasia.  Just then, two girls rode by on their bicycles.  They both had on the uniform of the school nearby, long green skirts and blue t-shirts (though the one girl had on a sweater…ridiculous).  They were probably headed to the well to fetch water, or maybe on their way home to start the charcoal fire and cook for a family of twelve.  Past them there was a dried field of maize.  I can remember just a few months ago when that maize was being planted.  The field was dug by four women and a man, over the span of a few mornings.  The field was weeded, planted, and after the rains came and the months past, harvested, leaving only a few, lonely stalks to become a dry, golden color, and whither to die.  We haven’t had rain for months.  Actually, we’ve had a good rainfall exactly once this year.   Everything is dry and eagerly expecting the sky to burst open soon.  Yesterday, it looked like that time had finally come.  We heard a cracking overhead, and rain began to fall in large, solitary drops.  I was standing with one of the sisters and she began to shout for joy.  I asked her if she wanted to hurry and take cover, but she was too busy celebrating to take cover.  It looked now as if the heavens would tend her garden.  But the celebration was short lived as the drops ceased and the clouds blew elsewhere.  Just before I had come to my house to sit in the shade, I had been in the staff room at school eating lunch.  The school provides lunch each day.  We eat posho (ground maize flour) every day except on Wednesdays, when we get goat meat also.  I put the posho on the bottom of my plate, then placed the beans on top, one scoop, two scoops, three.  My plate was a mountain of beans.  Sometimes we have black beans, but this day, we had the red ones.  They were still hot, but I couldn’t wait.  I dove in, temporarily burning myself in the process.  One might think that day after day of posho and beans would get tiring, tedious, tumultuous, and temporarily tasteless, but this is not the case.  Not one member of the staff complains about this culinary redundancy.  Maybe they’re grateful, understanding, or just plain hungry, but people generally seem content.  Perhaps this is one of those special qualities my friend was talking about in her letter, an understanding that things could be worse, even if they could be better also; to have to fetch water, endure 100 degree heat day after day, and the same meal, posho and beans, for lunch, and probably for dinner also, and be completely satisfied.

 

I found out recently that a kid at the high school I graduated from, a kid I know, just won the Indiana high school state wrestling championships.  I was thinking about what this kid (lets call him Brock-because that’s his name) might be thinking about that night as he goes to sleep.  I was trying to imagine his emotions, and the emotions of those around him.  I would guess that he thinks that this state championship is the biggest thing in the world right now.  I would guess that everyone he runs into right now has heard and congratulates him, and so, he might think that everyone around him has heard and cares and places value on this tremendous act of discipline and desire and, frankly, courage.  Then I think about Africa.  I think about the health center 800 meters away, where people are suffering with malaria and HIV.  It’s midnight here, and the rain’s beginning to pound overhead.  Finally, the dry season appears to have broken.  I think about the people all around who have waited on this rain, who rely on this rain, who would have gone hungry had this rain not come.  These people don’t know anything about Brock’s achievement.  Some people, if they were to hold these two up to the light, would make claim that a state championship pales in comparison to having the pertinence and emphasis that needs to be placed on those suffering in Africa.  Some would say that the elation of getting your hand raised in the air at the end of a wrestling match is not but a blinder to the dejection facing many people around the world.  I however, am not one of these people.  It is true that I am not one of these hungry or sick or dying, and Im thankful to God that neither is my family.  Instead, Im a third person perspective.  I know all too little about the dedication and commitment involved in Brock’s achievement.  But I know much about the hope of a dream.  I know that standing alone at the top can only mean on thing, you’re alone.  You’ve done what no one else could, and though frustration, pain, discouragement, and struggle seemed, at times, the only ones near, hope has now replaced that with an all-encompassing joy.  And if a joy of this nature cannot be felt.  If a joy of this magnitude is told it’s “not important.”  If a joy of this incomprehensibility is tried to be quieted and squashed, then I would ask, what is it that those who are sick have to pursue life for?  What is it that is worth hoping for?  This joy comes in different forms and in different arenas.  For Brock, I imagine, this joy has come to him within the arena of a gladiator’s coliseum, and he shouldn’t let anything or anybody take that joy or tell him it’s not significant or lasting.  Some might say that, compared to the oceans, the Nile is feeble and small.  But these people would be missing the power of the Nile’s many falls and rapids, the love of it storied past, the nourishment of its provisional present, and the flat fact that it’s because of the Nile that the oceans hold much of their greatness.  When Brock got his hand raised in that state championship match, thousands saw. But Im convinced that the shock waves of hope and inspiration that reverberated from that same action, can, and hopefully will, touch many, many more.  Though still, even if no one else saw, or knew, or heard, the action would be significant because of it’s meaning alone to one guy.  Do your thing Brock.  Africa supports it.  

bottles and cans just clap your hands

Christmas has come and passed. I saw apes. My aunt and brother came out! but really, we did see gorillas. we went trekking through the "impenetrable forest," jungle all around, thick, with no path, steep, muddy slopes, an unannounced humidity, and a guy named Sunday bushwhacking through the growth with a small machete. After an hour of this, we saw them. A family of five. Videos ad television do a good job at relaying their likeness, but being that close to them, just a few feet away, it was surreal. honestly, it didn't seem real. I mean, it didn't seem like these giant, docile, rare, beautiful creatures were real. either that, or it was i who wasn't real. I wasn't really there, i was still at home, watching this on the screen. Yet, I know we were there. When the silverback reached out his massive hand to tear down a tree and eat the leaves from the top, I could have almost leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Eat Neeko, it'll save the trees." But all I could do instead was stand there, smiling, and manage to take a few photos now and then (yes, i did get a photo of a certain younger brother flicking off some chimpanzees). But in all honesty, what magnificence. To look out through an opening in the canopy and see just vegetation, dense vegetation, all around, and then to realize that within this blanket of green, lived such massive and mysterious animals as the gorillas we were standing amidst...surreal. awe-invoking.

new years...i don't know how to explain. i met some other pc volunteers in a part of the country with beautiful waterfalls and peacefulness. i thought then, that the new years celebration would take on this form as well. Yet, as midnight came, i found myself embracing about 30 ugandans in a local house party or something like it. i actually know exactly how we ended up there, and there's only one man to blame. i wont forget.

though the celebration was loud, the new year has since been quiet. the students don't report until february and many of the teachers that live nearby have gone to their home villages. I since have realized that an African night can be brilliantly uncertain. The brilliance comes in with stars I've never seen and a sky that's governed by a depth I've never noticed. The uncertainty comes when I realize, some nights, that I really don't know what's out there in that darkness. The noises aren't of those I grew up with. Knowledge of what's just passed my sight is, perhaps, as unknown as the fact that there was a 300 lb gorilla in a tree above me that I never saw until her round, black body ambled ably down the trunk i stood by.

---

I haven't written in a while and i think there's a reason for that. the reason is not because of lack of internet, as i have had multiple opportunities in the past month of posting. i think, instead, that the reason is, steadiness. i didn't write about my life in the states, not because there weren't stories to share, but because it is my life, and perhaps i felt people wouldn't be interested in hearing of something that had been steadily moving on since september 13, 1984 ( i use steady in a loose sense as it has certainly had it's turbulence). but when i came here, that life, that steady movement (though at times chaotic) seemed interrupted, incongruous with normal movement, and so i wrote. but ive been here over 10 months now, i've been a part of marriage celebrations and death ceremonies, graduations and retirements, and it feels like life, steady, congruent, life. this is not to say that there aren't stories to share or that i wont continue to do my best to recall them, just that, at first, though i felt a little transplanted, maybe im starting to get the sense of having roots here in this fertile ugandan soil.

now for a story! Christmas is coming, and how does a family that lives in a grass thatched hut celebrate? with fury. even just speaking to some of the people here, i think the whole week surrounding the 25th will be a big party. family will come from their various locations, there will be some gifts of sweets for the kids, and there will be meat! whenever there's meat it means there was a slaughtering, and whenever there's a slaughtering, aside from the butcher's place, there's a celebration. kind of makes the next trip to arby's to get a roast beef sandwich a little more enjoyable. though don't get me wrong, a beef-n-chedder sandwich is always a little exciting.

speaking of celebrations, i spent quite a night a few weeks ago at a wedding ceremony. to make a short story out of a long night, lets just say i found myself drinking home-brewed wine out of a 10-gallon paint bucket using a 3 foot straw that was then used by 20 other men sitting in a circle around this same bucket. no, i do not condone this.

What's in a name- here is a brief list of some of the names of the students in my class (they put the surname first):

abeja oliver, abua scovia, acen lydia grace, aceng dorine, aceng jackline, acio nancy, achola rose mary, adit sandra, ajok flavia, ajwang teddy, akao babra, akello paska, akello sarah, akullo linda, akullo branda, akullu jackline, akullu sharron, alela gladys, among harriet, amuge eresta joan, amuno monica, angom robinah, apio brenda, apio immaculate, arao susan, atim leah, atim naume, atit loyce, atoo rebecca, atyang stella desire, tino racheal, koli hope, epol nighty.

no, i was not being partial to one letter. yes, i would like you to pray for these girls. yes, there are about 60 more girls with surnames beginning with the letter "a" that i could have listed. (the boys typically have a surname that begins with "o")