KFC

"Higher"... "no, higher"..."okay, follow the joints, but be careful"..."That's bitter, so we throw that out"..."the head? Of course we keep the head. When I was younger my father used to tell me that the head would make me smarter, more successful in studies."

Thus, my first execution went.

It all started when a woman from across the road brought a chicken over as a present. At first, I thought about eggs and chicks and roosters strutting their stuff all over the lawn, but after discussing the matter with my neighbor, we both decided that raising the hen, allowing it time to lay and nest, just wasn't possible. the bird had to go.

A few days later, I found myself out by the burn pit, one foot on the hen's legs, another on the wings, my neighbor coaching me through the slaughter.

"neighbor, are you scared of a chicken?"
"Well," I replied, "not the chicken so much as the chicken's beak and it pecking my eyes out."

When the job was done, and the bird put down, there was only one thing to say to my neighbor:
"Dorcus, I'm a murderer!"
"Yes neighbor, yes you are."

Her lack of consoling though didn't sway me from the next procedure of preparation. The plucking, washing, and gutting. did my neighbor take satisfaction in my now soiled hands and condemned spirit? I think, perhaps too much. But a few hours later, as we ate chicken and cassava with some vegetables from the garden, that condemnation gave way to thankfulness. But if anyone ever gives me a goat or a bull for a present, Im going to let my neighbor take over.

CLOUD CITY

There's a place in the Star Wars movies called cloud city, a place hovering in the clouds, neighbored not by grass and tree but by wisps and wind, stratus and nimbus. I was in this city not long ago.

A friend convinced me it would be a good idea to climb mt. Elgon in Eastern Uganda, approximately 14,000 feet up. I've never climbed a mountain before, unless of course Mackey Mountain counts, which rises probably 30 meters high from suburban Fort Wayne and which provides ample slope for sledding in the winter. With Elgon, I really didn't know what to expect. it's like the 11th highest peak in Africa with one of the largest bases of any mountain in the world. though I didn't know what to expect, 11 hours of climbing on day one quickly taught me.

Past village and farm, over rock, creek, and mud, we climbed. Every now and then I would remember to look up and around. "This is the primary forest," our guide said, "untouched by human hands."

What we passed was pure. Forests of bamboo bending down as if to have a look at us, blue mountain ridges off in the distance, Colubus monkeys jumped from tree to tree in an effort to escape our gaze. Or perhaps, just the opposite, to catch our gaze and let us know they were still here, still free. A bird perched on a branch above us. Black at first glance, but upon flight, revealing the truest red I've ever seen, it's wings covered with the untainted color. Untouched by human hands.

Still, we climbed.

We camped the first night, cooking macaroni and cheese over the fire, yielding to the sleepless mountain nights that cold air and hard ground thrust upon us. We would wake early the next day, climb to the summit, then climb 6 hours back down to another camp.

Cloud city was the place I wanted to live. There was something...transcendent about it all, living in the clouds. We we reached the peak, Wagagai, at 4321 meters, the transcendence returned. I took deep breathes of cumulus and stratus. The water from these heavenly bodies filled my lungs and i imagined them putting a light, mountain frost on the inside of my chest cavity. When the clouds moved on, they revealed the work below. valleys and hills, small ponds, and lands that spoke of an existence that neither relied on us nor held its beauty for our appreciation.

"When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him?"

But earthly transcendence can only last so long, and as we climbed back down, the mountain reminded us that it's still wild, untamed. the rains came, the trail turned to mud and slop, and as we fell time and time again, our guide reminded us, "You're getting the Elgon experience."

the brink

Earlier this month, when hundreds of people were gathered in the capital to watch the world cup finals at a large, public venue, multiple bombs went off, taking the lives of many, injuring many more, and leaving an unexpectant country, not know what next to expect.

I wasn't in the vicinity of the blast, not anywhere near it in fact, so I cannot say what the atmosphere of the region was even like. Also, the few newspaper reports I saw were spotty with details, and extracting a sense of the general mood, other than that of grief, proved fruitless. But the next day, hours away from the scene, in the staff room at Ikwera Girls, I was able to listen as Ugandans faced the issue of their own land, their homes, being targeted by the malevolence of faceless people.

To some Ugandans, their country is a developing world. To others, Uganda is a third world. While some, I think, hesitantly view Uganda as a different world entirely. Surely the world they see on the screen, or in the paper, or listen about on the BBC is real, but real as Oxygen is real, magnetic fields, and ocean depths. Words carried by a far away wind from a far away land. This isn't to say that Ugandans don't have hopes and dreams of touching such lands, or exploring such depths, nor does is mean they lack national pride. It's just that, at times, it's hard to imagine what's so rarely seen.

After the blast though, I think for many, they were forced to see that Uganda is a part of this world, just as much as any other land, any other people. With this come the joys of togetherness, solidarity, cohesiveness, of knowing you've not been left behind. But also with this comes the fact that the scruples, the disputes, the wars of the masses, are now also your disputes, your wars. Lives that are lost are sometimes your own. "Terrorists are now in Uganda!" one colleague said. "This Al-Queda has come to Kampala." "They're targeting us!?"

Over the next few days, there would be discussions, comments, even arguments about what Uganda should do. "We should pull away from Somalia." "No, we have a responsibility to the African Union." "Does this responsibility take precedence over having a responsibility to Uganda?" I wonder if all countries don't face these questions as they view themselves, their place in the world. I think many Ugandans are still asking questions, and rightfully so. But whether or not they'll answer them in a way that leads them to be, "A part of this world" (to quote Merry Brandybuck (or was it Pippin Took?)) with all it's joys and hopes as well as confusions, pains, and downfalls, is perhaps on the brink of an answer.

On Staying Inside

Some days, i feel like doing absolutely nothing. Actually, it's not that I feel like doing nothing, it's that I don't feel like doing...something. Maybe that something is going to the market, or teaching, or laundry, bathing.

Our Wildlife Club meets on Fridays after classes, and boy oh boy, if I felt the club wouldn't have noticed the absence of the only white man in the group, I might not have been there. The reasons for my lack of enthusiasm vary. Maybe I feel like reading, maybe I don't feel like being stared at by every passing kid, maybe I don't feel like hearing, "Sir, you don't know how to dig," every time I pick up a hoe. I don't always know the reasons why I want to stay away, and alternately, I don't always know the reasons why I go. But somehow, I found myself ankle-deep in dirt digging around tomatoes with the Wildlife Club on Friday afternoon. We were weeding our tomatoes, which the students are then selling to the school for a small profit. At first, there were only three of us, but soon, more and more students came, and before long, we were working the field better than those two guys from, Of Mice and Men. With more people, generally comes a higher chance for critique, and soon enough I heard it (although said kindly!). "Sir, let me help you. You don't really know how to dig." As my Steinbeck-acquired confidence faltered, I prepared to defend myself (and ultimately give up the hoe). But before I could say much, another student spoke up. "Ah Sir, you're doing fine. You didn't even cut yourself like I did." Simple words. But I was grateful.

As I went on working, now assigned to picking up the cut weeds, I didn't say a lot. I listened. I heard the girls working. I heard the students laughing. I heard a group of kids enjoying themselves to a degree which I don't always understand how it's possible. There are many, myself again included, that look continually on what Africa doesn't have. But I think I tend to miss all that Africa does have; and apparently, all those things which aren't here, aren't prerequisites for happiness.

I kept working, silently. In about an hour we would call it a day. I would head back home, my feet caked in dirt, sweat all over my green, Indiana University t-shirt, and with a fairly high chance of having some parasitic insect residing somewhere on my body. But I also had a happiness that I perhaps wouldn't have had, had I stayed inside.

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.