Christian Tour Group

I felt a wave of relief as I walked up to my gate and saw a lot of Christians standing around the entrance.  I was scarfing down a muffin, but my anxiety was increasing with every bite.  I had thought I would feel well-traveled and confident, instead I felt like I was in another universe, not just the Amsterdam airport. 

I was afraid I would be the only foreigner going to Uganda.  I was worried I would stand out, vulnerable and alone.  I still felt those things, but seeing the Christian tour groups, full of suburban dads and excited 20 something girls, made me feel better.  One was even wearing a "fisher of men" shirt, or something akin to a common New Testament phrase.  We boarded the plane and I fumbled with my ticket. 

I was in the middle seat, something I felt immediately dread for as I pictured the next eight hours.  I asked a stewardess if I could move to an empty seat, and she begrudgingly agreed, as long as the man next to the seat didn't mind. 

I sat across the aisle from a Dutch man, he looked to be about my age.  I instantly hated him, partly because he was wearing a crisp button-up, slacks and loafers, and partly because he was reading a physical newspaper in Dutch.  He was also vegetarian, so he got his food first and probably got better food too since it didn't contain mystery meat (I understand my dislike for him is completely unfounded, but I was stressed and tired).

The man next to me was friendly and from Rwanda.  He had been in Austin, Texas for medical training, and had visited Boston before he left.  He was so excited to go home and had such pride in where he was from.  He was extremely polite and slept for most of the plane. 

I would go to the bathroom almost every hour, mostly to panic in that small room.   I truly had some of the best hair of my life on that plane.  I remember going in, looking in the mirror, and telling myself, I can do this.  I'm going to be fine.  I can do this. 

It was a long eight hours. 

Heard it on the radio

The radio was one of the first things I remember noticing about Uganda.  Lanyero had picked me up at about 11:30 pm and we were driving back to her house.  I was unsettled, driving in the dark in an unfamiliar country with someone I had just met (in looking back at these situations, I am a little appalled I thought a trip like this was smart and perfectly fine?).  The radio was playing the Chainsmokers, one of my favorite bands. I think it was playing The One?  All I remember thinking is I heard this song live nearly a year ago, and now I'm hearing a two minute remix on the radio in Uganda.  Everything seemed ominous in the dark.  I hadn't slept in probably two days, but every nerve was aware and awake, even though I wish I could just sleep. 

Throughout the trip, the radio was always in the car.  It played a mix of inappropriate rap, elevator music, or pop remixes from the U.S.  I have a collection of a few songs that I shazamed while in the car.  Songs I liked, and a few of them I absolutely love.  Hoodie, by Hey Violet, is one that I can't help but play on repeat.  I remember the announcer said after the song was played, wow, it doesn't sound like she is handling that breakup very well (said in the lovely Ugandan accent). There was one radio piece about the danger of boda boda motorcycles and the movement to make them safer.  Laws were being passed about wearing helmets or only having one person on the motorcycle at a time.  People wouldn't ride them except there were cheap and traffic was unpredictable, so it wasn't reasonable to get rid of them, even though they were dangerous. 

There was a commercial for a segment where a man just said, "this is crazy.  this is crazy. this is crazy," in a crazed sound voice.  It still is creepy to me when I think about it.  I think it was for a psycho thriller segment?  Or murder mystery?  I'm not sure. 

On my last full day in Uganda, we had had a long day.  We had to go pick up Gladys, Gum's friend to get her vaccinated.  We rode public all of the way out to her school, picked her up, and rode public all of the way back to the hospital.  We went to one hospital to first get the paperwork sorted out and then we had to wait for her shot.  Afterwards, we rode to the mall and got food.  We rode public all of the way out to her school again and then headed to the equator.  It was a several hour ride away.  We finally made it back to Lanyero's mother's house and where we had parked the car.  At this point, it was 11:00 at night and I was exhausted.  The hope of going home the next day was sustaining me.  We got in the car and started the hour drive home.  As we crested the hill, heading down to the road, "22" came on by Taylor Swift.  It had been the only Taylor Swift song I had heard my entire trip, and I as I looked over at the lights of Kampala, it seemed fitting.  Yes, being 22 was crazy, free, and confusing.  Yes, I was in Uganda and in that moment it wasn't scary or overwhelming, but an incredible experience.  I had seen the equator that day.  I had ridden on a motorcycle through the streets.  I had helped accomplish a small goal for development for a cause that was important.  It was a moment I took a snapshot of in my mind, listening to my favorite artist encapsulate an experience, as a 22 year old, I wouldn't get back. 

xo. Elise

Me, at the equator, with random people who wanted to take a lot of pictures with me.  

Hard Things

I couldn't even read Chicken Soup for the Mother's Soul because it made me too homesick.  I tried reading The Diary of Anne Frank, which I brought with me to specifically start and finish on the trip, but it was too dark and too unsettling for me.  I read voraciously, rereading all of Shauna Niequist's books.  I had to do anything, light and fluffy to distract myself from where I was.  

I have thought about Uganda every day since being back.  On the drive to the JFK airport, the hospital on the side of the road made me jump in familiarity.  In the shower at the hotel, I had a sudden flash of gratitude for running water.  At home, when my hot water ran out, I remember splashing water on my legs to shower, out of a pail, while balancing and checking for spiders in the shower.  The details of the Amsterdam airport are fuzzy, but full euphoria because running water!  outlets!  fresh fruit!  chocolate!  The smell of gas from the roasting pans for a catered lunch made reminding me of walking in the village, back from a long day of public transportation.  

For the first week, I couldn't sleep at all.  I don't know if it was the time zone change or the unfamiliarity that kept me alert throughout the night.  I remember wanting to take Benadryl, just to sleep and forget how many days I had left.  I would wake up every morning with my internal clock counting down...9 days...5 days...1 day.  My jaw would be sore and tender in the morning from clenching my jaw all night.  

I don't have an eloquent ending or life lesson, other than my resiliency inspires me, in a current state when I feel exhausted.  We can do hard things and we are stronger than we think.  

Sunburn

Being on anti-malarial medicine is such a strange feeling.  My body doesn't handle medicine super well (I'm allergic to four types?), and being on an antibiotic for 46 days wasn't pleasant.  The first Monday I was there, Lanyero took me around the village, and I was only wearing short sleeves.  The entire time I was paranoid about getting bitten by a mosquito.  A lot of my trip there was a haze of fear.  Being fully present was overwhelming and scary, and I was preoccupied most of the time.  I had a list running through my mind about my safety--where was Lanyero, was this safe to eat, how much water do I have left, where is my bag, am I sufficiently covered from mosquitos.  No wonder I slept in the car the first week. 

I would always sit with my raincoat or blazer in my lap when we were in the car.  My hands would be burned from the sunlight streaming in, and I would cover them with my jackets.  I would religiously apply sunscreen every day, but my hands still stung.  It was a familiar feeling, I was on this medicine a couple of years ago and I got badly burned.  It feels like there are pins and needles in your hands most of the time, or the flash of pain from a hot curling iron.  My stomach was often upset, but I'm not entirely sure if that was from the food, the water, or the medicine. 

For a month after I got back, that sting followed me.  I still applied sunscreen, still covered my hands, still wore a hat. 

For whatever reason, I felt that pain yesterday and it just took me back to when my normal was not washing my hair, filling the toilet tank, tucking in my mosquito net, and eating leftover chicken for breakfast. 

xo. Elise

Tidbits

It took me an hour and a half to get through customs in Uganda, and I didn't meet up with Lanyero until 11:30.  We had a two hour ride back to her house, and I was operating on maybe an hour of sleep in who knows how many hours. 

Lanyero asked me if I wrote poetry, surprised, I said yes.  She requested that I write a poem for the Relief Society activity on Saturday about Mary, the mother of Christ.  I agreed, and I wrote a poem, even though I was horribly embarrassed.  I usually write poetry about heartbreak, and writing it for a bunch of strangers was not what I had in mind.  I have since deleted the poem, which I feel a small amount of regret about, but not enough to try to conjure up what I wrote. 

I learned that you will agree to practically anything when driving the bumpy roads of Uganda at 12:30 am in a complete stranger's car who you will be living with for the next two weeks. 

In any case, I do like to write poems, and although it's a little vulnerable to be doing this at all, I have written a few lines that I just love:

"I went home feeling broken and unfixable, and you came out of the blue.  Carrying only a hammer, but was enough to fix me.  I didn't know it would eventually shatter me, since everything is a nail."

"What happens when you're in a foreign country, so the only reading you can do is between the lines."

"The tired part of me nods, and knows that it was never about the equator."

"And I just have to ask, is there anything lonelier than the Cafe Rio line on a Monday after work?"

"I feel like they are chinks in my armor that leave me exposed, but I wonder if those small holes are letting God in."

"Maybe the secret truly is living long and existing wide and hoping to find a spot that is large enough to allow you to breath deep breathes, instead of absent-minded sighs."

xo. Elise
 

Prison

There are certain parts of Uganda that I didn't talk about or write about because I just was surviving.  I think back to my trip, often, and I could truly still talk about it every day.

I was about halfway through my trip when Friday rolled around, and I was struggling.  It had been a slow day with everyone gone at appointments, and I was sitting on the couch, mostly just waiting for time to pass.  The problem with having a lot of time to think is that you have a lot of time to think, which lead to me having a small panic attack of realizing how much time I had left.  A full week + two days seemed completely unmanageable and unsurvivable.

Lanyero had Nelson, one of her security guard friends walk me around the abandoned school.  There was a field where people were playing soccer, and the sunset was beautiful.  It was golden hour, and truly everything glowed.  Nelson took me through the courtyard and showed me the classrooms, while I was careful to avoid crushed glass and watched for dogs so I wouldn't have to touch them.  We looped back around to the road where there were a bunch of kids playing.  They all stared at me, and a few started running back after me--mostly as a joke and probably to see how close they could get to me.

My hair was in a braid and wet, since I had washed it that afternoon.  I was wearing my black rain jacket to avoid getting any mosquito bites.  We meandered back to the several story building, walking through the overgrown grass to get inside.  This structure was made entirely of bricks and entirely falling apart.  Nelson simply said, and now we go up.  Now we go up?  I'm sure my eyes went huge as I slightly panicked about whether the concrete stairs were stable.  We went up to the third floor where there were huge windows and we could see the soccer game going on below.  The sun was setting, and it was beautiful.  The whole time I was slightly nervous the entire building would collapse, but it held, and what a beautiful sight it was.

We walked back and Mary, another one of Lanyero's friends, works as a prison guard, and she wanted to show me where she worked.  At this point, the panic had slightly subsided, but a prison?  I can barely handle that in the U.S.  And yet, still we drove to the prison.  It was night now, and the streets were just as packed as ever.  The entire time I was taking deep breaths, trying not to freak out and panic about the prison and the overwhelming people and everything else.  We walked through the lobby of the police station and made our way back to the cells.  Mary reached over to me and told me not to breath when we got closer to the cells.  In my panicked mind, I didn't quite understand why, but I'm assuming because the inmates use the cell as a toilet.  I looked down the hallway and saw arms frantically waving and a group of imprisoned men started saying hello and waving to me.  I didn't get any closer.  Me and Lillian (she cooked for us while I was there) just stood back.  I was frozen and panicked.  I knew right then that I wasn't going to be able to make it the rest of the trip.  Eventually we finally left, but we still stood and talked in the parking lot for 20 minutes after.  The entire time, I was frozen, feeling like my white skin was a blaring siren to everyone around me.  I went right home and called my mom, limited wifi be danged because I could not handle it alone anymore.

So yes, I still think about Uganda often.  I hyperventilated a lot on that trip, to be honest.  I didn't know that time could crawl or that I could feel so completely and utterly out of place.  I am still unpacking what I learned there.

And now, when people complain about annoying mosquitos, all I think about how I no longer have to take daily anti-malarial medicine.  My hands aren't burned and I don't feel nauseous.  And all they can do is bite me.

TBH

My body still aches everywhere, and I am just assuming it's because it is still trying to figure out what time zone I'm in.  I realized that I will be sleeping in my own bed for the first time all year tomorrow.  I am slightly terrified about moving back down to Provo, so I am quietly contemplating just living with my parents forever.  Hey Mom and Dad, I would be a great houseguest, right? 

I told my sister that I feel like I have been on a boat for the past few months.  I remember my 22nd birthday was actually kind of exhausting because everything seemed to be changing and different.  Moving out, leaving for Spain, ending college--it all seemed too much.  Ever since then, everything has had a sense of temporariness which is tiring, but also comforting.  Nothing is permanent, nothing has to stay the same, if it's bad, it will soon be over, if it's good, it's enough to survive on. 

I didn't know if I wanted Spain in my life, and now I am shockingly sentimental and searching for small memories and reminders.  I was positive I wanted Uganda in my life, and now I look at pictures, still a little surprised that I survived.  I knew I wanted a European trip to happen, and I am still really tired, but very happy. 

Someone asked me what I've been up to, and I didn't even know how to answer.  That is a little discombobulating, but also soothing.  Permanence can hurt and seem like a tidal wave.  I don't necessarily advocate for constant change, but when you are feeling very uncomfortable with your identity, it is a really great way to numb your panic. 

Part of me wants to live free and open, without chocolate chip cookies or social media to protect me.  The other part of me wants to just. keep. running. 

A really wise and mature part of me knows that the not starting is actually much scarier than just starting.  A job, an apartment, a social life will all anchor me, but right now it feels like it will drown me (oohhh dramatic metaphors?  I like it). 

All this to say, I'M FREAKING OUT. 

How is your Tuesday evening going?

xo. Elise

Whiplash

I walked into the bathroom today--a clean bathroom with an automatic toilet and mirror and soap.  I bought a smoothie without worrying about where the produce was from.  I bought cold water and a Diet Coke (planning on a lot of Diet Coke for the next few hours).

And throughout all of this I almost started crying.  Everything seems bigger here, my senses are heightened.  It's strange that Uganda even exists, seriously, was it real?  It's so easy to just move past and forget everything that is out there in this world.  It's strange to remember it to be honest.

I put on make-up and finally did something with my eyebrows.  I even put on lip gloss, even though it came off with my sandwich (that had vegetables on it!).

I understand that everything I have been writing lately is disjointed and random.  Part of that is because, let's face it, I am kind of in shock this is my life and the whirlwind is a little overwhelming.

I will also claim jet lag, even though I got a surprising amount of sleep on the plane (praises!).  But mostly because I am actually really bored because everyone I could talk to is asleep right now.  And it's a little weird to be going from Uganda to Amsterdam.  From not really seeing myself for two weeks to applying mascara.

It's ok, I understand this is word vomit on a very real level.

xo. Elise

Just a Taste

I am in the airport, a moment that I wasn't sure was ever going to come.  The past two weeks have been straight-up overwhelming for so many reasons.

But I'm sitting here, listening to music and actually having websites load.  !!!!  It's just a taste of my normal life, but wow, it feels good.

I am a little scared to go home.  Scared because I feel like I have learned so much here, and plunging right back into real life is scary.

I am not going to lie and say that the past two weeks have been easy, or that I handled them well.  I am fairly sure that I freaked my sister out often with all of my complaining (sorry Anne!).  But at the end of the day, I am so glad that I came.  I was ready to come home before I even left, but if I didn't come, I wouldn't have known or learned so many valuable lessons.  I am so grateful for that.

Now I am just sounding like a broken record but Wi-Fi is great!  Music is great!  Life is great!

But honestly, the best part of this entire trip was how close God was to me.  I felt Him in ways I haven't in a really long time.  I needed Him on this trip.  I was scared a lot of the time to be honest.  I just would pray and pray and pray for whatever I needed.  And He always answered.  I understand the temptation people feel to leave real life and come to a country like Uganda where God is palpable.  It's easy to talk to Him when your wifi doesn't work or you don't even know how to strike up a conversation with the people next to you.  Or you are driving for hours around the city.

I have struggled with faith off and on for a while now.  I am clinging so tightly to my plan and my decisions and my choices that it's scary to open my hands and let God guide me.  I have learned on this trip that it is ok.  He is an omnipresent Being, eternal and faithful and merciful.

xo. Elise

Where it Began

In the fall of 2015, I took my first development class, and I just fell in love.  I loved what we were learning about.  I loved the purpose it gave me.  I loved how it was so different from the business prerequisites.  I loved how my professor dreamed big, and encouraged me to think big.  I didn't always say much in that class because I was really intimidated with the RM's and their languages, and seemingly everyone else's in-country experiences.  I had traveled a lot, but nothing that required me to get a vaccine.

I was looking through my notes today, and I saw one from October 2, 2015, and it read, "Margaret Melville business consulting major.  Women's stats."  It must have come from a conversation I had with Professor Romeri-Lewis.  Margaret was actually a business strategy major.  In any case, I forget that these two weeks in Uganda have been building for years now.  I continually reached out, sent introductory emails, and kept the conversation going. 

The past two weeks have been difficult as Lanyero and I have been navigating the system that is Uganda.  Today we finally, finally, finally received the letters we needed for a large grant.  We both started crying in the Ministry of Health office.  We had tried so hard and driven to so many places, gosh.

I have struggled with this trip a lot more than I wanted to or expected.  I feel like development is no longer where I want to go, which is a little frustrating.  But today?  After our success?  It was what I wanted.  The small steps forward to hopefully make a big difference in the future?  That fulfills the dreams of 19 year old Elise, who was enamored in development theory and exotic countries, and the belief that somewhere along the line, I could help.

And that is satisfying in a way that I just have to thank God for.

Might Forget

There are so many things that are weird about Africa.  Not weird in a bad way, just in a oh that is unique to Uganda way.

So here is the list of things that I don't want to forget:

They don't say something tastes good or delicious, they say it tastes nice.  There are random speed bumps in the road, I can't figure out why yet because usually traffic is terrible people can't be going that fast anyway.  They groan when you are explaining something to them, and I can't figure out if it's positive or negative?  They always say, "Hello, how are you?"  You are supposed to respond.  They don't say goodbye though, just a very long greeting.  They require their kids to say hello (or at least in classrooms, "hello visitors").  Where you go to school matters, and you don't just go where it's easy or close to your house.  A rainstorm came at night, and I felt like I was in a carwash it was so loud.  When we pulled up to Laynero's daughter's sports day, she exclaimed, "ah look at the Gum's!!"  Her daughter's name is Gum (pronounced goo-m).  They call women, "Mama [insert child's name]".  For example, my mom would be Mama Anne or Mama Elise.  I asked Lanyero what happens when there are a lot of kids, and she said that it's just on the child most well-known, which I thought was a little sad?  A lot of the vans and trucks have scriptures or religious sayings on them.  There was an announcement at Sports Day for someone to go check their vehicle because security had stopped someone from breaking into their car.  There are security guards everywhere, or at least at the entrance to buildings and hospitals or parking lots.  They buy food every day here, since they don't have a way to keep it.  They definitely have more of a tribal mentality, which is sometimes hard for me.  They share the workload or the efforts or the food because they view it as collective offering.  The motorcycles weave through traffic like ants, and the taxis go everywhere.  Lanyero has been pulled over four times (part of me wonders if it's because I'm in the front seat?), and she got a ticket for not having up-to-date insurance.  I can't help but wonder, with all of the other lack of traffic rules, why insurance?  At one point Lanyero was upset because someone was in the wrong lane at a stoplight, and I wanted to ask what lane?  Since when does that matter?  Baby-carrying is a thing, but to be honest, the babies always look really uncomfortable to me.  Child safety is not a thing.  We picked up her niece, and she just sat in the back, no seatbelt or carseat.  There are babies on motorcycles.  Their baked goods are really dry, but their juice is actually pretty good.  There are people on the side of the road selling anything and everything, from cough drops, car mats, even a tummy-fat-buster machine.  I saw one young man wearing a, 'Trust Me, I'm a Wrestling Mom,' t-shirt, and I realized that a lot of t-shirt slogans are quite silly out of context.  They have four-poster beds, but not because they are trying to be fancy, but because they can hang bed nets on them.  People love Uganda, and they bash the U.S. often, while paradoxically very curious about it.  They still feel pride in being part of the British Commonwealth.  The radio station we listen to either plays rap (sometimes not super appropriate rap, I might add) or smooth jazz.  The U.S. music is usually a remix and very short.  They really struggle with my name, and today someone called me Elsie.  You always have to know someone to get anything done.

There are probably a million other things, but for now, that's what stands out to me.

xo. Elise

Africa Round 2

I am sitting here, bored to be honest.  There aren’t a lot of things to distract you in Africa.  There isn’t social media or Netflix that really works (trust me, I’m trying).  People don’t need to be working quite as hard as they used to be, and so there is a lot of sitting around.  We left at 6:00 this morning. We got home at 9:00 pm last night. Yesterday I had to go to the bathroom, was starving, and extremely thirsty, and I am realizing when you are any of these things in Africa and not close to home, you are uncomfortable for a very long time.  I am becoming overzealous in my bathroom search (what can I say, I love a good toilet that actually has water connected to it). I am stingy with my water bottle (it has to be a perfect balance of quenching my thirst, but not drinking it all too early or too fast, lest I’m thirsty all day or not around a bathroom).  I have to mentally go someplace else—often. We were in public transport for a total of nine hours yesterday. And those nine hours weren’t a quiet train or metro ride, or even a carsick-inducing bus. Instead, it is in a little twelve-passenger van (even though they are licensed to carry 14 people, lol, sometimes it’s more than that).  The upholstery is nasty, for lack of a better word, and you are shoved in there for however long it takes. The taxis honk their horns at every person they see on the side of the road. A simple outstretched hand indicates that someone wants a ride, and then a conductor (a person who sits right behind the passenger seat, controls the door, and gathers the pay), screams the destination.  “Kampala! Kampala! Kampala!” It’s pronounced more like “comp-awl-a”, well not quite, but I’m not sure how else to describe it. You move and squish as needed. The best seat is either in the front passenger seat or in the very back corner by the window (surprisingly). I dreaded riding public for the first time because you see people squished in their like sardines. It is surprisingly more comfortable (I can’t bring myself to say spacious) inside, but the middle rows are the worst because you could have four people squished in there and you constantly have to move with other people.  I still hate riding public, but after riding it for a total of nine hours (that is longer than Logan to Las Vegas in case anyone is wondering. It is also about my same flight from Amsterdam to Salt Lake), I think that I can handle it a little better.

        I was reading a book the other day (my Kindle app is easily one of my most prized possessions at this point), and I had the strangest feeling of zooming back into my body.  I haven’t read for escape in a really long time. Or maybe really ever? It hasn’t ever been a purposeful method of escape. But now? I do sometimes read to escape. I close my eyes on long car rides and in the public transportation.  I realized that part of is it self-preservation. Yesterday was what I deemed a ‘high-alert’ day. We were riding public transportation all-day and walked around busy sections of the city. I was on Laynero’s heels like a puppy, constantly looking around and being aware of everything.  At the end of the day, my arms ached and I was exhausted. I read or close my eyes and try to nap to prevent sensory overload. It is overwhelming to be here, and overwhelming to be here by myself. I have never been so grateful for books and the ability to check out. I completely forgot that I was in Uganda, and I sometimes need to give my mind that break.

        I have realized that none of my usual vices are here.  I can’t shop online, eat a lot of food, watch Netflix for hours, scroll Instagram for miles, drink a lot of Diet Coke, or anything else.  I am pondering what I am like, here without my usual weapons. It’s good. It’s also very boring since I can only reread so many books before I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.  I am realizing what I actually miss amongst those things, and what I am ok with giving up. If anyone ever needs a tough-love deprivation camp, may I recommend flying to Africa by yourself for two weeks?

        I do miss my independence.  I miss being able to walk outside and go pick up whatever I need at the grocery store.  I miss knowing how to work the public transportation system. I was so proud of myself this winter for ‘conquering all means of public transportation,’ but Africa has humbled me.  Yesterday in the two-hour ride home, I was in the front of the taxi (side note: I really think that they give me that seat as a preference because I feel like I’m thrown in there often, but it is the most comfortable).  Laynero was in the very back (the other best seat in the van), and I couldn’t see her unless I turned all of the way around. The first hour was very tense, partly because the driver kept changing gears and I had to hold my leg away from the stick shift, but also because I was terrified I was going to get separated from her.  I realized that it was the perfect example of faith for me. I know God is in the back of the van, just waiting and sitting, but the entire time I am terrified that He has evaporated into thin air. Of course Lanyero didn’t leave me, and even though there isn’t an official stop, I knew exactly where to get off on my own, and I met her outside the van.  Yes, very similar to God.

        Speaking of God, He is with me.  Very tangibly. I have been praying, nearly constantly while here.  I pray for big things, like time to develop wings and fly. I pray for little things, like the traffic jam to clear up (ok, sometimes that is a very big thing).  I pray that I won’t hear the mouse. I pray that I will find a bathroom. I pray that I won’t panic. And yesterday was actually really hard for me. Really hard.  And I just prayed the entire time. I want miracles in my life. I am learning that God is a God of miracles, but for me, He is continually a God of tender mercies.  And that is very different. It is hard sometimes because I just want that easy miracle, you know? But honestly, very few things have made me want to cry in gratitude as the toilet being full of water so I could flush when I woke up on Sunday (why can I not stop talking about the bathroom? I apologize).  I am counting my tender mercies in full gratitude because I would not have emotionally survived without them.  The sunset tonight, the pineapple soda on Friday, the full nights sleep seem so small out of context, but in the moment they seemed more like oxygen—enough breath to get my into the next moment.

        A lot of my least favorite parts of myself have been manifested in this trip.  I am selfish, snappish, insecure, low on patience, and uncomfortable. I considered myself a great world traveller who could adapt to cultures, but man, Uganda is teaching me lessons.  I am practicing grace, maybe too much, but I am practicing grace because it is hard to be here alone. As in really hard. I am used to being alone, but this is a different level. So I am practicing grace in my insecurity because it really stems from fear of not knowing how to act or to be.  I am hoping to carry this home, so next time, when the circumstances aren’t as dire and I feel insecure, I will have practiced more patience. I won’t snap or be too quiet.

        I have learned that time is not money in Uganda.  I have measured time as money for so long, I am not even sure how to change my paradigm.  It is utterly confusing to me as we circle the city, navigating traffic jams and bad roads, when an email would suffice in the U.S. I am flabbergasted by having to meet in person or wait for letters of introduction.  When telling Lanyero that we had five hours to wait for a response, she said that it wouldn’t take us five hours to get to our location. It took us four hours (trust me, I was counting them). When I told Lanyero that, she looked at me in surprise.  I always ask what time I need to get up in the morning, but I am typically waiting for an hour before we actually leave. I still can’t wrap my mind around this way of life. I am finding that I am infinitely more partial to my system (see what I mean by the worst parts of myself?  I am full-fledged, head-over-heels in love with America these days).

        I feel like I have been putting myself in situations where none of my talents are showcased.  It’s a little disheartening to be honest. I am taking an art class, failing at working in development, and struggling to learn a language.  In some ways I’m grateful because I am continually crossing things off my list of potential futures, but man, I need to sign up for something that I’m great at one of these days.  Or maybe that’s what college was? I’m really proud of myself. This stuff is hard, and I am not shying away from it. I am also exhausted because you can only handle so much of trying to be brave before you would like to just order a 24 oz. Diet Coke with lime and a sugar cookie to celebrate finishing a slide deck while driving away listening to Taylor Swift (literally what dreams are made of right there).  My dad told me that what I learn here will give me strength for the future, and I think that’s true.

Additionally, I am a little surprised at just how low-maintenance I am.  I mean, I always prided myself on that, but my eyebrows look like I am in fifth grade (you know, kind of the ragamuffin stage?).  Also, my hands are slightly sunburned because of the malaria medicine and my face is SO oily because of the daily sunscreen situation.  And sponge bath situation. Have I mentioned that? I am learning whole new levels of what I care about. I am actually surprised at how relatively good my complexion has been? I feel like a hag most days, actually every day, almost all of the time.  

        It should be noted that this entire thing has been written whilst listening to the EFY CD because Ugandans are very into that and we are waiting for a phone call at 8:00.  You know how it goes.

Africa

I just finished filling up the water tank for the toilet so I could actually flush it, and then realized that I am actually in Africa.  Like Africa, Africa.

It looks exactly like it does in the movies.  Startlingly so, in some ways.  Everything is new to me, but it's honestly not because I feel like I have seen some version of it in whatever movie or TV show.  Strange, isn't it?  There are many moments that are weird.  I started typing on a computer today, and the doctor commented on how fast of a typist I was.  He asked if I had formal training, and it took me a minute to remember when I had actually learned to type. I know I wasn't born with a computer in my hand, but gosh, I had forgotten all about the home key situation and the hours of typing in various computer classes.

Another doctor was just staring at my legs and asked Lanyero if those were the actual color of my legs (why he didn't ask me when I was standing right there?).  In any case, I was wearing nude-colored tights, and so it wasn't quite the color of my legs, but still.  The kids in the school we visited yesterday couldn't stop touching me--they just seemed to want to feel my skin.  I am sure they were shocked to feel my nylon-covered legs, thinking that's what all white people feel like?

Someone asked us today if our machine was made in the U.S. and then turned to me and asked if I was made in the U.S.  Yep, born and bred.

Most of the hospitals we go to are quite nice, but today we went to a poorer one, and I saw a lizard fall to the ground from the ceiling.  I suddenly had Parent Trap visions of a lizard falling on my head.  Couple that with nightly visits from Stuart Little and I'm a hot mess.

Yesterday Lanyero asked I wanted to do scripture study together.  I said sure, and promptly forgot about it.  She woke me up at 5:21 am this morning asking I wanted to study.  Since I couldn't fall asleep until 1:00 am and woke up on the hour, every hour, to shine my flashlight, lest Stuart Little got too comfortable, I explained I had a hard time falling asleep.  I don't do well being wakened too early unexpectedly, so I felt a little badly, but overall went right back to sleep.

Yesterday I felt like we were making progress and things were going well.  The distributors seemed excited and willing to work with us.  We visited a school, and the kids were just darling.  I finally felt a little more settled into a routine, and I started feeling that maybe I can make this whole thing work (not that I really have an option, but I am literally dreaming of the airplane bathroom where I can actually wash my hands).

Ugh, and then today was just awful.  Every appointment we went to, the person was out of town or sick or gone.  Why are so many people out of the country?  We have a hard deadline coming up next week, and I am getting nervous that absolutely nothing will be accomplished for it.  Add onto that bad wifi where I can't load anything for our projects, and I am decidedly frustrated.  We were so close to getting a letter we needed, and then the medical director refused.  The doctor we had been working with was so frustrated because he really wanted our machine.  I could have cried, I was so disappointed.  I am so used to dispensing with business with a couple of emails, and that's that.  And here I am not even the one who could be sending the emails.  My grant for this trip was also rejected, so today has been a rough one from 5:21 am.

To be frank, there are many aspects of this trip that are hard and I'm not sure if I would keep going with it after what I've learned.  That sounds awful and ungrateful, and I understand that.  But man, it's hard to be here.  It's lonely.  I am still not really adjusted to the time zone (even though I know I should be).  I am the only one looking out for myself on what is safe to eat, how to take care of myself when there isn't really a trash can or a sink, and I am constantly navigating cultural differences.  I slather myself with sunscreen and bug spray everyday, but there isn't actually a mirror here.  I catch glimpses of myself in the car window or in small mirrors here and there, and I am always surprised with what I look like.  Part of me thinks I look better than expected, and the other part of me longs to just put on makeup in a mirror.  The women here are stunning, and I always feel like an underdressed hoodlum.

Oh, and let's talk about the food.  I realized that I never feel bad, so to speak, but I never feel good.  I am always slightly uneasy, and I feel guilty when I can't finish what they put in front of me.  The charcoal stove (or maybe it's just gas?) is in the kitchen, and I am convinced my lungs will be permanently ruined after the three months of people's heavy smoking in Spain and the two weeks of lack of ventilation in Uganda.

I still get scared when I think about how much is left here.  It's scary!  I am not sure how to explain it, but it's intimidating.  The more I travel, the more I ironically feel like a homebody.  I am realizing that it is good I did this now.  I know that I wanted to come here to see what it would be like.  I have wanted to work in development for so long, but now that I am here, I am realizing it's not what I want.  I don't think I could have learned that for all of my excellent classes, and I am really grateful that I am not using vacation days right now.  I feel entitled to say that, and maybe it's just because I am not passionate about the project, but I am not sure that I could do this.  Some people just fall in love with it, and I thought I would be one of those people.  But I'm just not.  I know that there are a lot of factors going into this trip, but it is one more thing I'm crossing off my list.

One thing that is absolutely freeing is that people are content here.  They are truly content!  Even though people have lived in other countries with all of the amenities, they would rather live here.  This was a rather heartening discovery for me, and I have felt myself become a little bit more free.  I have felt a shadow of guilt for so long, that it's a little strange to feel that lift.  I am realizing that I can be content in my life because other people are content.  I don't say happy because people always say that.  Oh, they had nothing and they were still happy!  When I came here, I realized it's not just that they are happy, but they are ok with how their life is.  And that's when I realized that home is a powerful principle.  Home is always going to be home.  Maybe not everyone feels this deeply, but for a lot of people, no where in the world is as great as home.

I graduate college in two weeks.  A part of me is still kind of sad that I gave up my last semester.  Ugh, I can't think about it too much or I panic when I think how college is actually done.  However, these past three months have been so fascinating to live through.  I am realizing that I unknowingly have been putting myself in situations where I need Heavenly Father.  Like, need Him to get through the day.  I also realized that this Uganda trip concludes the last of things I wanted to do in college.  I really did everything I ever really dreamed of.  How incredible is that?  I didn't just do everything I needed or wanted, but everything I dreamed of I had the opportunity to do.

Thanks for reading all of this.  I don't have a ton of conversations these days, so long blog posts it is!  I would attach a picture, but the wifi situation is something I have no comment on or else I will lose it.

xo. Elise

Uganda!

Last winter, I knew I had a gap semester, and so I decided to just fit everything in and travel everywhere I could, and that is more or less how I ended up sitting on a couch by myself in Uganda.

I am currently writing this to stave off a complete meltdown because I am definitely looking around wondering how I ended up here.  I mean, I know how I ended up here, but you know what I mean.  Who flies to Uganda by themselves to spend two weeks more or less alone?

I guess I do?  A part of me is still truly wondering what on earth I was thinking.  The other part of me thinks this is kind of cool.  And the last part of me is still trying to breath deeply and keep calm because this truly is a unique experience that is cool/will hopefully help on some level.  Another small part of me knows that if I didn't do this, I would have always wondered a little about that one opportunity I had to go to Uganda and didn't take it.

And what is Uganda like?  Based on my exhausted view, it looks exactly like how you would imagine.  It is beautiful though...red dirt and green everywhere.  We went to church today where I feel asleep (I feel a little bad about that, but also I was barely functioning).  I am obsessive about bug spray and sunscreen at this point.  I forgot to bring towels and those long-sleeve shirts I wanted to sleep in (yepppp.  It's been a real treat figuring out what I was thinking when I was packing).

We came back from church and I took a two hour nap, and I'm feeling a lot better.  Already looking forward to sleeping later tonight, but it's fine.  My host also has a security friend who stops by, mostly to babysit me when she had to go grocery shopping.  I haven't had a babysitter in a long time, but I appreciate it.  As a white person in Utah, I haven't really understood what it's like to stand out because of my race, but here I am getting the slightest glimpse of that.

I was also very worried about meeting at the airport, but I felt better and better about that situation as my flight went on.  There were two other planes that got in at my same time, full of other Europeans and Americans who were checking in.  I had to wait an hour to get my electronic visa accepted (people who decided to wait and get their visa had to wait ten minutes?)  My bag was perfectly fine, thankfully, and I got everything I needed.

Has all of this been random enough for you?  Haha, but as I keep telling myself, I can handle two weeks.

xo. Elise

Me, right in the car after getting picked up!