sipi falls

dance party in the living room. i think this was our breaking point.

potty stop/pickie opp in the bush on the way to safari.

story time with hannah and catherine.

this is where I be (as of tuesday). sipi falls. i'm sleeping in a treehouse at the foot of that cliff.

Ugh!

I have malaria again. Or I relapsed. Or it never went away and so I just still have it. I’ve been in this damn bed for 2 full days now and life is beginning to feel like a really uneventful dream.

I have four days left in this beloved country. Today I was thinking about how I have spent one sixth of the year in a different country. It’s weird. It’s not a mission trip or a trip of any sort at this point…it’s just life. I don’t really see the Ugandans as Ugandans anymore…we are all like a family now. And ya, that sounds cliché and sappy, but that’s just how it is. I have become best friends with Pastor James’ four-year old daughter Kim. Today she refused to go to school because she wanted to see me and give me cookies and drawings she made so I will feel better. We colored eachothers’ nails green this afternoon.


Last week’s visit to the hospital was heavy. There is this boy there named Dennis. Ten years old. Severely malnourished. This is the only way I can explain him: He looks like a piece of paper folded in half, propped up, when he is sitting in his bed. I don’t even know how he can sit up in his bed…the whole time I thought he was just going to collapse. His father Samuel is always there with him. They’ve been there for a month, during which Dennis hasn’t gained any weight. It breaks my heart. And it’s not fair. I want so badly for God to heal him because it seems impossible. When I came home from the hospital, I was angry and anxious. I was crying in my bed and I threw water bottles at the fan (because that solves something). But this week’s visit was severely different, characterized more by joy than by sadness. Dennis’ face looked different…brighter. When we entered the ward, he got up and walked to meet us, smiling. Involuntary tears! He gained one pound and the skin on his arm was peeling; his body finally had enough energy and nutrients to start renewing his skin. I think Dennis will make it.

We can’t feel sorry for Africa. Feel sorry for the incapable. The powerless. These people are anything but powerless: they are warriors, stronger and more able than you and me. To pity them is to dehumanize them, to underestimate their ability, their knowledge, their community. If we feel sorry for them, we are diminishing their hope and their love. And if there is one thing I have learned from life in Africa, it is NEVER underestimate love. Love never fails. It conquered death and sin and separation from our Creator. It is so strong and I hate that I have taken it too lightly. imate Love is fully alive and pulsing in Africa and it can surely heal the bleeding wounds of this beautiful continent. I do love this place.

I’m missing frozen yogurt.

i'm BORED.

at the Nile River

malaria is a beeze. it makes me want to crawl out of my skin. i have no energy even though i have slept for 2 days and i want to go do something but i can't because i'm too tired. and i'm over taking melatonin pills to make myself sleepy...thus, i have resorted to the sloth-esque internet to ease my cabin fever.

CORRECTION to the intern sickness report: Richelle only has typhoid. the sketch clinic lied to us...i think it's all a conspiracy...no one is sick...we are all fine.

Our school in the bush has been going very well. I am working with the youngest group, which proves challenging as they know NO english and the concept of learning is very foreign to them. For the past 2 days i have been in bed, so i am missing my children greatly. thankfully one of the COTN staff's daughter has been here at home...4 year old Ruth who also knows no english. she is beautiful and we taught her to give kisses on our cheeks. we just painted our nails together.

intern sickness report.

Elena: typhoid fever
Jenny: malaria
Richelle: malaria and typhoid fever
Jill: malaria
Scott: malaria
Me: malaria
Andrew: nada
Emma: nada

some snaps!

I am convinced that giraffes are dinosaurs.

Bridesmaids! We are looking so smart!

Baby with beads in Gulu.

Baby Lydia...i see her at the market every week.

The sky is angry and I think it's about to rain. The children have stolen my heart; they are lovely little thieves. It is hard to think of having only 2 weeks more in this beautiful place.

I'm a banana.

We taught our driver Jimmy to recite the "Rejected Cartoon" video on youtube..."my spoon is too big. my spoon is too big. my spoon is too big. I'm a banana!" I legitimately peed in my pants the first time he said it in a high pitched voice. If you don't know what I'm talking about, youtube it.
It’s been a while since I have blogged. Much has happened since the last post and it is hard to say that some thoughts and events are more important, more blog-worthy than others. This whole blog thing still seems narcissistic anyways. But I find that writing words that other people will read makes me actually think about what I am thinking.
Last week I visited a hospital in Lira to pray for people. I don’t think I have ever gone somewhere for the specific purpose of praying for people; it was a right feeling though. We started in the maternity ward where there were newborn babies (just minutes old) laying next to their mothers. Newborn African babies aren’t black…they are a strange reddish purple color. There were pregnant mommy’s with tears rolling involuntarily down their faces, ready to pop at any hour. I prayed for two mamas sitting on separate hospital beds. They were both sitting up facing each other; I crouched down in between them. The one on the left gave birth that day, but the baby died. She was all alone. Her eyes were heavy and sad and were tied to the ground. The one on the right had a healthy baby girl that day who she named Jane. She was beaming with her husband holding her hand and glowing alongside her. It is an uncomfortable feeling to pray for such furiously contrasting situations. I was scared to pray a prayer of joy in front of the mourning mother. But at the same time, it is beautiful. To know and claim that God is crying with the mother who lost a child and laughing with the new mother. Such contrast. God dwells in both.
From the maternity ward we moved onto the Malnourished Children’s ward. The kids there looked like shriveled up old people, kind of like E.T. actually. Wrinkled skin and bulging eyes. Maybe that’s insensitive, but it’s the closest thing I can compare it to. Their eyes looked like it was painful just to breathe. There was a 2 month old baby named Amy. Her mother died during child birth and now a “step mother” (who had her own infant strapped to her back) takes care of her. Amy was a tiny little thing, I thought she was a newborn. Death is so normalized here. It’s not that people aren’t sad or that they don’t mourn. It’s that death is so prevalent that they must choose joy. My Ugandan friend James explained it to me this way: You are happy because you are eating chicken. But then the rebel soldiers come and you can either drop the chicken and run or carry the chicken and run. You hold on to the chicken and run. And if you arrive to a safe place and find that you dropped your chicken, you are happy because you are alive. Hope is tenacious here in Uganda. We hopefully believe in a tenacious God.
I walked outside and stood in the courtyard in the middle of all the wards. I could hear the TB patients coughing and the children with malaria crying. My eyes welled over with tears. I was compelled to go pray for the patients who couldn’t afford a room inside the hospital. They sit under the mango trees, trying to keep cool in the shade. I prayed for three very pregnant mothers. I love pregnant mamas. I put my hand on their bellies and when I started to pray, the babies started moving fiercely, like a fish trying to swim in a bowl it has outgrown. They were responding to the Spirit and it was beautiful.
This weekend the interns went on safari. I took a nap on top of a boat as we floated down the Nile River towards enormous waterfall, surrounded by hippos and crocodiles. Woke up and did yoga. It was possibly the most relaxing experience of my life. We discovered a fresh deer carcass in an acacia tree and our friend Jimmy knew there was a lion nearby. He tells me he can smell a lion from far away, but I don’t know if I actually believe him. We ventured off the road into the bush, driving over a million little ant hills. I was sitting on top of the van on a mattress, peering through the bushes looking for this lion. We found the lion. A female. In a tree, hiding. She was panting, tired from hunting the deer. She was mesmerizing and I couldn’t believe we were so close to her (probably 40 feet away). It made me feel way more adventurous than I actually am. The safari was a lovely adventure. Creation is a stunning beast. God is undeniable.
This coming week we are starting a “school” for kids in the bush who can’t afford school fees. Most don’t speak any English and for many, tomorrow will be their first day of school so this should be interesting. I am extremely excited though. Sharon will be coming to this school. Mercy’s older sister will too. Pray for these kids.

Mercy on my back.

This week I accomplished a life goal: I carried an African baby on my back. It was every bit as great as I knew it would be. Her name was Mercy and she was 2 months old. A group of mothers (who are all about my age) tied her on to my back and I carried her with me as we visited the huts in a village that is set a little ways into the bush. A slobber spot spread out on the back of my shirt where her mouth was and I loved it. Mercy’s sister, who was wearing a very tattered veggie tale print dress (gotta love globalization) takes care of her during the day while her mother works, which means Mercy doesn’t eat all day until mommy comes home. It’s babies carrying babies here. When babies cry because they are hungry, their older siblings drip water into their expectant mouths to quiet them. The older sister looked to be only about four years old, but she told me she was seven, severely stunted in growth probably because of malnutrition. The baby spread the entire length of her back when I tied her back on before I left.

I got to see Sharon twice this week…she lives at the same village as Mercy. She smiled a lot more this week. I am starting to genuinely trust God more with her, not that that impacts God’s love or control over her, but it is important for me. We did fingerpainting with the bush kids…it was great fun for all. My favorite part was seeing a train of small children walking home through the tall green grass holding big, bright pictures. It was beautiful.

The wedding was yesterday (Saturday). It was quite the sight to behold. 2000 people attended. Weddings here are like community events, all-inclusive celebrations. I realized that this wedding was a BIG deal, since a Ugandan man was marrying an American woman. This is the first wedding like this to happen in Lira and since Edward (the groom) is already somewhat of a local celebrity…this was THE wedding to attend. During the ceremony, there were about 20 chickens flapping around; they would later be given as wedding presents along with the goats tied to the tree outside the church. My favorite part of the entire hullabaloo was when a group of traditional dancers started to perform and three of the COTN Ugandan staff (Thomas, Ambrose and Jimmy, who was wearing Groucho Marx glasses) ran over and danced nonsensically with them. Thomas looked like an epileptic grasshopper while still maintaining perfect rhythm. It was something that would happen at an American wedding after everyone was a little tipsy. I loved it. All in all, it was a great cultural experience. I will hopefully be able to upload a picture or two soon.

I have been sick for the past 3 days with a cold-ish thing. Headache. Sore throat. Off and on fever. But it has been nice to slow down and rest. I’m hoping tomorrow I will be ready, steady, go.

Sharon.

I have been thinking a lot about the image of the little girl in my last entry. The one who smeared dirt on her picture while trying to sweep off paper scraps with her hand. It makes my stomach sink and my head all cloudy inside. I was talking it over with my dear new friend Jerusha [who is doing trauma counseling with girls forced to kill family members], and she took the image of the little girl and spoke a beautiful, haunting truth out of it. In this picture that I can't get out of my head is a girl that God created to be creative, and as she tries to uncover that creativity inside of herself, the reality of her situation smears across her attempt to be more, to be something different. The more she works to uncover her own desires and skills and beauty, the more the dirt crusted on her hand, the more the limits of her poverty and war cover it up.

What hurts me so deeply about this is that I can't really do anything to help her. I can love her in the immediate, I can care about her, I can pray for her. I can ask God to give her food, to wash the dirt of her body, to provide school fees. But God usually doesn't work like that. I have full confidence that He could help her in these ways, but I doubt that He will. Yes, i am doubting that God will provide for this girl. This is all very confusing. And overwhelming. This is just one girl of millions who are living in the disguisting hand of poverty, and many are far worse off. And it's so real. When I can barely hold this girl because her belly is so swollen and it awkwardly takes up so much space, it is real and it becomes my burden.

I wish that I didn't doubt God. That I could just trust Him with this. And that I wasn't so torn up and shaken. But then, is it really bad to be broken up over things that break God's heart? to cry with God over this girl? As much as I mourn for this little girl [whose name is Sharon btw], God weeps and weeps and longs for her to know that He loves her infinitely. He knows her inside and out. All her worries and fears and hurts. That is my comfort.

The neighbors are blasting Ne-Yo's "Sexy Love". I love this place even when it hurts.

wedding!

I am in a Ugandan wedding! I'm going to be a bridesmaid. Today the other intern girls and I went to the market to get fitted for dresses for the wedding. Lime green and black! With headwraps, which will probably make me look like a cancer patient. I am quite excited. The wedding is next Saturday. that's what's up.

Today we went to a village where I helped the children make mosaics. I was very impressed with their creativity despite their relative lack of motor skills. I saw many big bellies. They are swollen and tight. The kids I worked with today were so dirty...filthy. Dirt was caked all over their skin, making them look ashy. One of the little girls was trying to wipe paper scraps off her paper, but her hand left dirt stains all over the paper. I still don't know what to do with that.

Highlight of the day: a 3 month old baby named Calvin fell asleep on me.

i do not miss america.

Today is Wednesday, July 1. But I feel like it could be any day. I have no sense of time here. I like not knowing what day it is or what time it is…it is almost like time is irrelevant or even non-existent. But it matters so much at home. My life in San Diego runs on time, but life here in Uganda runs on love or experience or people or something lovely like that.
I have cried many tears. I have smiled much and laughed more. I have many stories to tell, the kinds of stories that are best told face-to-face. So it is intimidating to even try to write something that feels like Uganda, that feels like I feel. But, alas, I will try.
This place is so beautiful, more than I remember. It is impossible for me to imagine such horror happening in a place so saturated with beauty. The sky is massive, higher and wider and deeper than you think it could be. On the drive from Kampala [the capital city] to Lira [where I am living], I was the audience to a glorious sunrise. It started out as a pale orange stripe across the bottom of the sky. It looked like the light was repelling the clouds. The color grew and grew, as if God was painting slowly a watercolor, adding more and more colors and slurring them around.
I have been reunited with a family of Ugandans who are the fiercest lovers I know. They love so well and so deeply. I could write pages about each of the COTN staff. And then there are the children…the COTN kids. 30 orphans, each has their own story, their own trauma. They are selected from IDP [internally displaced people] camps to come live at the COTN home, where they are cared for by a new family of mamas and aunties and uncles. I love these kids, children in general. I feel an immense love for them…it feels like an enormous creature swallows me up when I am with them, or if I even just see them. I can’t really put it into words. It’s like that piece of God’s heart inside of me starts swimming or ringing or screaming or stabbing me or something. Sometimes it is almost unbearable, but if I didn’t bare it, I wouldn’t be me. Every time I feel that inside me, I remember that what I feel for these kids is a small portion of what God feels for me. How great is our Father’s love.
I have experienced many heartbreaking things in the 2 weeks I have been here. At church, I sat next to a baby who had an abnormally large head. Like, very large. Either something was wrong with her or something was not right. A fly was burrowing into the inner corner of her eye. The baby just laid there; it seemed like she was dead. It is a disturbing thing to not be able to tell the difference between alive and dead. I walked through a prison of men [many all who are falsely accused] most who had horridly distended bellies. I have shaken hands without fingers [cut off by the rebels] and heard unimaginable stories of abduction and torture and rape. I was talking with our driver, Jimmy [a fearless servant] and he told me that because Northern Uganda has experienced such immense pain, that there is great opportunity for joy to come alive. It doesn’t make sense to my small head and my confined heart, but I know it is true because I see it and I feel it all around me here. God is inescapable.
The Ugandans’ smiles are joy. Smile. Smile. Smile. The smiles here are more genuine and powerful than ours, each one aggressively defying the pain of the past and claiming the joy that only our Creator can give. Everything here, the people, the trees, the dirt, the sky, seems to be crying out to our Father, who smiles back down on them. They know how to just be here. Be alive. Be human. Be loved. Be lovers. I am daily challenged by their capacity for love and joy.
I’ve done so much already. We are building the new children’s village. We have worshipped with prisoners. We have Jesus Film-ed. I bought a chicken at the market and carried it home by its feet. I helped put on a 3-day leadership conference. I have held hands and wiped tears. I have prayed hopefully over sick bodies. I have taught art to orphans. I have witnessed the casting out of a demon. I visited the Invisible Children office in Gulu. I went to Sacred Heart Secondary School. I swing danced in the rain. I laid on top of our broken down van and watched the lightning pulse in the sky. But all of this stuff I have DONE shrivels in comparison to what I have BEEN. I have been loved by God. How awfully often I forget that BEING is what I am called to do. My worth lies within a God who has already accepted me and I can BE His.
If you made it to the end of this, thanks! And sorry for the length. I do not miss San Diego, but I do miss you. I am too overwhelming content with this place and my God to miss home. I think of you though, and I pray for you too. Pray for the health of my team [many have been sick] and pray for the people we will be interacting with. Pray that I can love like my God loves me.
Amari [I love you],
Alisa

things i will miss...

these are the things i will miss most while i am in uganda:

1. milk

2. meisha

3. you

i really wish i could teleport.

today will be spent running around much like a crazed creature, purchasing last minute supplies for our team. this morning i bought $400 worth of ink for the COTN staff in uganda. crazy. $400 worth of ink is sitting next to me in an office depot bag on the ground.
i have discovered that there are very few of my friends left in san diego :( but i will soon be one of the ones who is gone...so i can't complain.
26.25 hours until the beginning of a great adventure.

packing...

packing requires much thought. i feel like i am still in school. i don't know what to wear on the airplane. perhaps I will just apparate there instead. i'm trying not to get caught up and tied down with all the petty details...because they're really not worth it. big picture, alisa. big God. big picture.
i remember last year, when we were driving from kampala to lira, we passed so many people who were just living their normal, everyday life. and i intersected that life for just a second as we drove past in the van. i remember thinking about how God loves them and that he died for ALL of them and that he is after their hearts. i wanted them all to know that as we zoomed by. but then i had to ask myself if i really knew that. or believed it. do i really believe God loves me? i think sometimes i don't or i would live differently. i am striving to believe what i know and to let that saturate my thoughts and actions. i'm excited to drive north again. i wish that i appreciated that little adventure more last year, so this year i will appreciate it more.

two days from today.

i've never blogged before. this is weird. i've never thought of my thoughts as being blog-worthy. i'm scared i might mess this up...or read this a year from now and laugh at how confined my mind and heart were. oh well. here goes something.

i normally like packing...but not when it's combined with moving out of the castle after the brutal wake of finals. today i racked up an impressive ten hours of packing and cleaning. i do like being able to look at 3 boxes and know that all my stuff fits within them. i was able to simplify down my stuff...getting rid of things is great. that is one thing i am immensely looking forward to in uganda: simplicity. it is refreshing. i sometimes feel like every material thing i own is a little string tying me down to the world, like how gulliver gets tied down by a thousand tiny lilliputians. getting rid of stuff reminds me of its insignificance.
today, i overheard a dad praying before his family ate: "thank you, father, for being up in heaven, watching over us." i wanted to interrupt and say that that is not our God. he isn't up in heaven looking down on us. he is with us. he lives in us. and he brings his kingdom to earth through us. i am glad that my God is not a god who sits up in heaven and stares down at me. no. he is moving, running, crying, laughing with me.

as i've been preparing for uganda, to return to that beautiful, challenging place, i've been thinking about how i conceive of God. like how i picture Him. and how i fit into that picture. for a while, my picture has been like this: God is up high, slightly bored of me, who is running around in a circle on a patch of grass below him. in my concept of God, God is waiting for me to just stop what i'm doing and just exist as his beloved. ugh. maybe i am as confused as that praying dad. my picture of God is starting to change though. it doesn't have me in it anymore. it looks sort of like a collage of all the lovely and precious and humble qualities that i see in the people that make up my community. it's God who puts those little pieces of himself in us...and they are cultivated with love and time and experience. every good thing in a disciple is a little bit of God's character revealed to me on earth.
in 2 days i will be on an airplane flying first to dubai, then to addis ababa, then to entebbe. then an 8 hour bus trip to lira. beautiful lira! i like flying. i'm excited to read and drink ginger ale. lschurpe. and i like the bathroooms on airplanes...they're so compact and everything is metal. i hope i get to sit next to someone on my team that i don't know very well. travel always brings out the real in people.