Choices

Part of me uses this blog as a reminder of all of the good news that’s here in Gulu and to help me step away from the daily difficulties. I guess it is a coping mechanism. Challenging myself to find the lighter, fun moments amidst some heavy experiences is not easy. I also like to write about the escapist, superficial moments here that perhaps shed light on an unexpected version of Africa. Hence blogs about humping lions, my dogs, matches, etc. But life is tough here for people and I don’t always make the right decision in handling these challenges. Sometimes I avoid them. I must record these moments too. Here’s some samples of bad and selfish decisions I’ve made recently:

A couple of days ago I told a man that I absolutely could not give him a single penny more of assistance. When he asked, “even milk for the baby?” I said still said no, but could barely meet his eyes. His wife died of cancer a couple of weeks ago and he appeared one day at my office in tears asking me for some assistance, because he worked at Norwegian Refugee Council with me. Although I did not know him (NRC had 600 employees) I gave him money. Twice. This time, as I thought about my impending departure, I thought it was better to cut this guy off now instead of building up expectations. I don’t know why I decided I could not spend another penny on him. But I did and in moment I did so without hesitation and with a clarity that I now ponder. Would 20,000 Ugandan shillings ($10) really have stretched me? No, of course not. But it would have really helped him.

A woman I really admire asked me for some assistance with a dance competition she is hosting soon. I’ve been ducking her phone calls for 2 weeks. I love this woman Christine. She’s been the closest thing to a local friend I have had here. But I didn’t want to give her the money. Unlike the baby’s milk, Christine was asking for a substantial amount. I’m avoiding her, because I don’t want to have a relationship with her that involves money. I don’t want to change the way we feel about each other. Somehow giving her money would remove a level playing field. Of course, that field has never been level.

Yesterday I overheard Hayden giving Stephen 15,000 Ugandan shillings or about $7.50. I was enraged and confronted him about it. “Why did you sneak Stephen money? Didn't you read my blog?” Hayden looked at me slightly startled and simply said “He needed to buy some paper.” The conversation ended and for the life of me I could not figure out what Hayden had done wrong or why it had bothered me.

A while back I had a conversation with Johnson, my hapless, alcoholic guard/gardener who I struggle to keep employed despite his many disappointments. The conversation went like this:

“Johnson, why are you two and a half hours late?”
“Jessica, sorry, but the baby’s sick in the hospital with malaria.”
“Oh, is he ok?”
“Yes. He is improving.”
“Well next time, you need to call and inform me that you’re going to be late.”

My goodness. I remember walking away from that conversation thinking thank god no one heard that exchange. I felt terrible about it. I was so cold with him. Maybe I even signaled that my life was more important than his, than his baby’s. Like you see in a movie, I treated Johnson like a servant and this was not the first time.

This morning on CNN there was a story about child labor that focused on an 8 year old goat herder. I was practically rolling my eyes over the story. “Big friggin deal,” I actually said out loud, “we see that every day and then some here in Gulu.” Yikes.

I guess this is some sort of confessional. I’ve made it clear that living here is tough, but I constantly exonerate my behavior. Part of the reason I need to leave for a while is to recalibrate my relationship with Africa. I want to keep the passion and dedication to the work, but I want to lose the neocolonial chip on my shoulder. I don’t want to lobotomize my engagement with the continent, like many I have seen here do. But I don’t want to blurt out vaguely racist statements I’ve heard myself say recently like “everyone here is so damn corrupt and this place is broken!” That’s not ok.