Arrival

It has been a journey.
Start with the getting here. It took us three days, four planes, one night in a tent and a six hour drive through the night to land us in Gulu. On the plane from London to Nairobi, Chioke fainted. I was fast asleep and felt a strong tapping on my shoulder. I looked at my seat mate to the left and he pointed to the floor where I saw Chioke's legs. At first I thought he had just fallen into a deep sleep and perhaps fallen out of the aisle seat, but it soon became clear that he was unresponsive. A few minutes later with some oxygen and some loud and unnecessary freaking out of the missionaries sitting around us (was he drunk? was he acting weird? do you think it's a seizure?), he was back into consciousness and had no memory of even feeling sick before he went down. We chalked it up to altitude, and I kept my hand on his pulse and plowed him with tea and power bars to bring his blood sugar and body temperature up.It was an intense experience for both of us, and for very different reasons. For me, it brought up feelings of impermanence and transition- moving from one space to another. Perhaps there is a necessary moment when we all must check out in order to make room the next space. I don't think this moment is one we often acknowledge or think about, but I think it is intrinsic to moving through time and space. Chioke provided me with a dramatic enactment of this. He made me take a picture of him with the oxygen tank on his mouth (that was when I knew he was feeling better) so perhaps I will post it and others soon with internet is more reliable.

The first night in Nairobi, sleeping in a tent, feeling the stars and the cool air around my body and in the words of Sister Pauline, deep in the belly of my blanket, I took a deep breath and allowed my arrival on the continent to sink into my body. The weight of travel, of moving through, and finally arriving somewhere is a process that inspires reflection and perhaps even eloquence. And yet what I found was that I had no words. The sound of the monkeys outside, the coyotes in the distance, a crickets at my feet provided a sweet lullaby and I fell into deep sleep.

I am going to invoke a 'fainting spell' into this narrative now, a necessary checking out and skip to our arrival in Gulu. It is beautiful. Perhaps even more than I remembered. The amazing warmth of the nuns and the hospitality they provide. Lush green grass layered over brick red dirt and trees that house animals large and small. The sweetest pineapples, the juiciest mangoes, the ripest avocados, stacks of fried dough and mushrooms that grow in abundance from termite mounds and melt the moment they meet your tongue. Perhaps the eating of meals offers a way of knowing a place that is as layered and diffuse as the hands that harvest, buy, prepare and eat the food itself. The contrast of course, is that most people are hungry here and that hunger or shall we say great need, pervades moments of intimacy, connection, genuine opportunities to achieve success. I find it hard to have anything to say. I'll call it an adjustment and processing period and hope that in a few days I will be able to describe the actual events that have unfolded. For now I will give a bit of a list.

1. Olivia has done a lot of prep work. She has selected 12 Traditional Birth Attendants to begin training immediately. The vision shifts a little every day as reality and needs come up and we work to create a project that is truly community centered.
2. The clinics walls are up and the construction is in full swing. It should be finished within two weeks.
3. Sister Rosemary has identified a group of women between Gulu and the Sudanese border who have been untouched by resources. She has purchased land in this area called 'Atiak' and will build another St. Monicas there. We are headed there this evening to meet with the TBA's and think about how all of our sites can connect to resource these child mothers. We will stay over night and conduct narrative interviews in the morning.
4. I am tired.
5. I am excited.