I'm Writing A Book

I've decided I'm writing a book entitled "Things I have learned from my 6 year old nephew". I've already got a few incredible entries. And here is the latest. I just had to share, being the sinfully proud aunt that I am. I have copied an email that Erin, my amazing sister-in-law, wrote to the family. By the end of it I could barley read the final words for the tears blurring my vision.

"I thought I would share a quick story with you all about our sweet Carter...

His school has adopted a school in a little village in Ghana, Africa. They are raising money for uniforms $6.00 each, book bags with supplies and a kindergarten building. So, they showed the kids at his school a documentary about the village and Africa in general, no inside plumbing, old raggedy clothes, no shoes, dirt floors, and told them someone dies every 30 minutes there, etc. They explained to the kids how $6.00 is not that much money to us but it is a lot to the people in Africa. Carter was so upset by this he set about raising money for this school.

I suggested he do a few chores around the house and donate the money he earns. I was thinking he would earn around $5.00 and feel really proud of himself. He was not happy with that idea. He brewed for a minute trying to figure out how to make more money. Finally he came up with a plan to sell his rocks. He has this collection of rocks sorted into colors that he has collected from our back yard and a few from the dinosaur museum in Ogden. He went to some of our closer neighbors and began selling his rocks. He priced them himself. Some were a buck, two bucks, five bucks, thirty-four bucks, and forty bucks.

A few of our very gracious neighbors bought rocks for $5.00 each, his cute cousin Christopher (5 years old) bought a rock with $2.00 of his own money, his aunt Sonja and Amanda both picked out a nice $1.00 rock they liked. Tyler bought a rock for free. All my change throughout the house was plundered and added to the pot. All in all he did well.

This little rock-star managed to raise $104.72 which he will donate tomorrow at school. His star contributors were his Grandma Livsey who bought one rock, a nice size fools-gold rock for $34.00. She then donated it back to the cause so someone else would be able to buy the rock again. Carter picked the price and wouldn't budge. If she wanted that rock it would cost her 34 dollars. She tried to talk him down but he wouldn't have it. So after a little negotiation and change counting she came up with enough funds to purchase the rock she liked.

After considerable negotiation, and I mean about 30 minutes worth, Carter managed to convince his Dad to match the money he had made during the day. He had earned $52. The deal they struck was $52. for a collection of ten nicely polished rocks plus one brownie. The cool part is that once he donates this money to the school they have a donor who is matching dollar for dollar everything the kids donate which will mean Carter single handedly, (well thanks to his generous family and neighbors) raised $208 in one afternoon. Now that is some serious fundraising.

He is now very worried about the kids in Africa and his aunt Hollie (she is there teaching in Uganda right now) who he is hoping is coming home soon so she is not one of the "one every 30 minutes" who dies in Africa. He prays for you every day Hollie!

Thank you to everyone who was so generous to buy rocks for outrageous amounts of money. It was really fun for Carter to feel like he is making a difference. He raised enough money for 34 kids to get uniforms so they can attend school. They can't go to school if they aren't wearing a uniform. We can learn a lot from our kids!"

I had the most adorable little second grader write Carter a thank you card and draw a picture. You can see it on the blog. I told Noah, the child, that my nephew raised a lot of money for children in Africa to have school uniforms. That is it. This is what he wrote:

"My name is Kutosi Noah. I want you very good. Thank you for children in the Africa. My father want you mother want you sisters want you brothers want you all the family want you very nice. I am nine years old. I want to learn in the classroom. All the class want to learn. We have colour uniforms. We have red, yellow, green, orange. at our home we have three cows, four hens, and two goats. My father milk the cows. We drink that milk, my father's name is Wakoka Alex and my mother's name is Horano Betty. Thank you Carter for do that. I want very very nice. Now Goodbey.

And he drew a picture of 3 children in their uniforms (he was wearing a yellow shirt and blue shorts that day) coming to school.

Thank you Carter!!! Having experienced first hand the reality of kids not being able to come to school for lack of uniforms or shoes or books or fees, I was incredibly touched by Carter's 6-year-old heart the size of Texas. Faces that I meet every day in the village flashed before my face. It is to be noted that Carter LOVES rocks, and has been building his collection for a while now. Sacrifice is giving of something good for something better. We just sometimes don't understand how better that "better" can be. And that is why it is a sacrifice. Six years old, and he already understands that giving is better than getting, sacrifice is fulfilling, and thinking of others before yourself is what brings true happiness.

I think my book will be a best seller.

Sports Competition

You know that feeling of when you were in elementary school and you were going on a field trip… that feeling of excitement, not having to do school work all day, getting to visit a new place, waiting around for the bus to come…that was the feeling. It threw me back to sixth grade when we all went to six flags as a class, and I held hands with Wesley Schmidt for the first time, even though we had been "going out" for over a month.

The children could hardly be contained. We lined them up at 8:20 and were out of the gates by 8:40, flag bearers in front. Walking all the way down to Bumwalye field (30 minutes of trekking at a good clip) was a stream of red and white gingham, and little shaven black heads bobbing up and down. I felt like we were in a parade, with all of the villagers sitting outside of their houses along the road, waving as we passed. On to victory. We were competing against 12 other schools that day, and of course we would lead. We'd been training for 2 weeks. Which I thought was no time at all. Apparently no one else even trained at all.

After crossing a very sketchy bridge and hiking through the banana leaves we finally came upon the open field. Incredible, I thought. The "track" was a painted black line in a not so oval shape around the field. Who knows how they ever measured that. High jump was two wooden poles pounded into the ground. Short sticks driven through drill holes in the poles held the bamboo shaft to jump over. Tilled earth served as the landing pad. For marking the spot where the shot put, discuss, and javelin (all owned by AAH by the way) they used small sticks with pieces of paper that marked the athletes name. A good eyeball and half of a guess and that is where we are pretty sure your discus landed, so here goes your name into the ground.

Those who weren't athletes were fantastic cheerleaders. They even sang songs in the vernacular saying something like "keep running! Because at the end of the race there is tea and bread with butter on it". I guess that is kind of the same as "we're number one, you're number too, we're gonna beat the whoopee out of you", right?

On your marks, set, WHACK – the slap of two pieces of wood hinged together and they're off! Some ran in button-down shirts and pleated shorts. Some ran in ragged clothes, holes everywhere. Some ran without shirts (even girls). All ran without shoes. Shoes would just be a hindrance. They only have money for one pair. And that is the pair they wear to school everyday, black, hard soled shoes, not good for running. Barely good enough for walking. And that is if they have shoes at all…

It was interesting for me to see other schools there, and their uniforms. I understand better how much more the kids at AAH have. I think I'm getting used to seeing raggedy clothes on every person I meet, legs almost ripped off of pants, shoulders ripped out of shirts. I even saw one girl who wore a sweater where the entire right arm was missing but for the cuff at the wrist and a bit of fabric below the shoulder. Why bother? I don't even notice it anymore. It's part of what makes me love them.

Order is more or less absent at all African events. Our teachers tried to make the situation better, but it was hopeless. No one was timed, but that's not that important. The important thing was knowing who actually came in first, second and third. Apparently there were a few discrepancies…and some cheating…but you can find this in any country. They marked laps by taking a bundle of sticks – as many sticks as laps – and then dropping a stick for each lap. I never knew sticks could have so many different uses. They even use them for toothbrushes!!!

One thing I can say is that African's are incredibly resourceful. Nothing goes to waste, everything has 20 uses, and you make do with what you have. You use the flattest and biggest piece of land you have, make a crazy track around it, don't mind the herd of cows passing through in the middle of the race, or the matatu that drives up on the middle of the field, or the bicycles passing through on their way to town, or all the wasted bits of chewed sugar cane littering the track and field. It made me smile. They are not so different here than we are in the West. Vendors (a boy with a plastic basin full of some treat his mother had cooked that morning) popped up like snack stands. Sugar cane was selling like cotton candy, fried balls of rice and beans went like popcorn and hotdogs. It felt like a real sporting event.

AAH did well. The girls led in almost every race, discus, and shot put. Boys did really well too – over all we came in third and we have quite a few people going to County on Friday.

We finally fed the kids lunch at about 6:00 that evening – rice, beans, meat – brought to the field from AAH on bicycles. Julie and I served the kids. I like being able to serve them.

One of the teachers commented that she doesn't like walking around with us because of the press of children that follows us wherever we go. I've just accepted it as a fact of life. And maybe it really is true that they have never seen a white person before. I mean, that would be something to stare at for the first time. At the introduction 2 weekends ago, I saw a man that was black and white at the same time, like he was wearing a spotted mask over half his face. I wanted to stare. I can understand how they feel.

This just in: One of the schools was having secondary students competing as primary students. CHEATERS! Good lesson to teach all your kids. About 4 students from one school were found to be imposters. I'm still confused as to what this gains them – but it would be like having a junior competing against a 6 ^th grader. Not fair at all… Everyone is up in arms about it at AAH, and they want to take some of the incriminating pictures I took of the various culprits to court. I'm not sure that will ever happen, but everyone is pretty excited that I actually have evidence.

I loved watching everyone, cheering with the kids, taking a billion photos, talking with locals, sitting in the shade with a group of AAH girls just hanging out, and being a support in general. Apparently the way I cheer is really funny to everyone in Africa. But I went on cheering anyway. It was fascinating to see how things ran…or didn't… and to see how you really can make something out of nothing with a bit of imagination and ingenuity. And it works just fine. Make do with what you have, and be grateful and happy about it. A race is a race whether you run it barefoot on grass or if you run it in high-tech Nikes on a track. There is still a start, a finish, a winner, and a feeling of excitement as your team pulls into the front. Sometimes Americans are not so different from Africans, I think. We are all members of the human race, and that counts for more than we think.

Perfect Teeth Polly

I had 400 toothbrushes and toothpastes donated to the kids here at AAH. This week we did a Health Education lesson on brushing your teeth and general mouth health, then gave out the toothpastes and toothbrushes. Remember at girl's camp, where you would do the skit where one person was the body and head, and then another person standing behind him was the arms? So that's what we did for the Perfect Teeth Polly skit. I was, obviously, Perfect Teeth Polly. J and Amy was my arms. We taught the kids how to brush their teeth and then demonstrated. Amy did a great job of brushing my chin and cheeks and getting toothpaste all over the place. The kids loved it. Total success, especially with the older kids. The younger ones were a little confused I think…but they still laughed.

Half of the kids were using the toothbrushes they had donated from a year ago. The other half were using sticks. Apparently, if you don't have a toothbrush, you can take a stick and chew the end of it until it becomes soft and fibrous. They brush in the river, which is a great way to get a friendly amoeba. If you don't have toothpaste you can use a mixture of salt and baking soda. Some of the kids said they brushed their teeth with sand. We thought that wasn't the best idea. It has never crossed my mind to use a stick to brush my teeth. I would never have even thought of such a possibility, but this is their reality.

When I announced we had toothbrushes and paste for everyone, you should have heard the whoops and hollers. I haven't had any crazy dreams or any depression, but maybe this larium is making me more emotional. I had to fight back a few tears the first couple of times we passed out the little gifts. When did you ever get so excited about a travel size tube of toothpaste? So much so that you would have thought I had just announced I was giving everyone a million dollars. I wish you could have seen their little faces. They lit up like Las Vegas Neon signs, eyes wide, hands excitedly clapping, bodies so happy they couldn't stay still (some children were literally dancing in their seats), and hollers and yells of joy only a truly grateful heart can utter.

These kids. They have stolen my heart. I can't hardly look at their perfect brown faces, shaven heads, giant eyes, button noses, and full lips without smiling. They look up at me, grinning as wide as the ocean. I am always struck by the contrast between their dark chocolate skin and their bright white teeth, which only makes me fall in love with their little smiles all the more. One flash of those teeth and I am won.

Thank you to the Allen family for generously donating all of the dental supplies to these deserving children. You would openly weep to have seen how grateful they are to you. I gave some extras to the cooks and janitors and grounds keepers. Such a small thing as toothpaste was a HUGE gift even to these tough grown men. I think these people are so happy in their hardships because they are so grateful for what they do have. I think they focus on what they do have instead of always thinking of what they don't have.

By the way, I highly recommend Colgate Total clean mint paste. I think it might be my new favorite toothpaste flavor.

Wele (God)

I have mentioned how much I love the praise songs these children sing. Earlier in the week I plopped myself down in the middle of a circle of girls watching the boys practice high jump. Ugandans are incredibly resourceful. The high jump station consisted of a rectangle of hoed ground (hoed by the 6^th graders), 2 wooden poles about 7 feet apart with nails (not so evenly spaced) from the top to half-way down, and a whittled bamboo pole that rests on the nails between the poles. This is what they jump over. I mean, they make their own soccer balls.

I like music better than athletics I said. They know this since I've started a music club and taught them a few songs. They agreed. Now it is your turn to teach me a song, a praise song, in Lugisu. Anytime I have them teach me their language they go wild. Slowly, as students realized I was learning one of their songs, the circle grew larger and larger, and by the end of it we were all up dancing, singing, shouting, and loving every second. Teacher! They said. Now you sing alone. Get me up in front of a group of people to speak, to play the oboe, to act, to teach and I'm great. Anything but singing. Fear grips my soul and I freeze. But I went for the glow. And they loved it!!! Wild clapping. We all sang together again. Their voices are beautiful. Their bodies can't stand still. God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good. This is what they say at the end.

The song they taught me was about lifting up God higher and higher. They are teaching me much about the place that Heavenly Father should have in my life. Every day I am impressed with their ability to put God first and to thank him for the little they have. What's more is they are actually sincere! Everyday these adorable little children come into the library and at least 2 or 3 of them will check out a bible, or the New Testament, or a religious book of some sort. No prompting, no one to push them in that direction. They just gravitate toward it.

True character is revealed when no one is looking. That is how I feel with these children. I feel they really believe.

I need more moments like that one. I felt closer to them for having been interested in their culture. I felt they appreciated me more. I felt a connection. I need more personal experiences like that. I have decided to give everything I have to these children and this education thing. I want to "wear out my life" in their service. I haven't done that to this point. I think I have been a little selfish in needing "Hollie time". But I think they deserve more of me. I just to figure out how I can make that happen.

Nusu

Nusu is the mountain of all mountains in this area. In the eyes of the locals, it is an enormous accomplishment to hike. Maybe it's just because they don't think white people can do any sort of hard manual or physical labor. Being an ever present obstacle outside my front door…I had to climb it.

I organized to have Teacher Godfrey, Teacher Peter, Teacher Michael and Fred as my guides, and Stuart (the 11 year old boy that lives with us) as my traveling companion. Teacher Godfrey led the way, having climbed Nusu 4 times before. After getting lost 3 times, forging our own path through the brush and climbing STRAIGHT up the mountain side, I began to wonder about my choice of guide. Being a mathematician, he knew the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. And thus we climbed this crazy steep mountain in a straight line. "Godfrey. Do you know switchbacks? Do you have switchbacks in Uganda?" Apparently not.

I love the teachers at the school. They are so incredible. Peter, one of my favs, put himself through high school on academic and sports scholarships because no one in his fam would pay his fees. He started running because he heard they would pay school fees for the best. He was always the best. Nine of his siblings (his mother gave birth to 19 children, 5 of which died before Peter was born) and his father have passed away. Godfrey was abandoned by his mom when he was 2 1/2 and hated by his father's 4 other wives and neglected by his dad all his life. Michael went to school under a tree growing up, and we have yet to interview Fred. But I'm sure it's something crazy like everyone else's stories. They love life. They laugh at everything. They love each other. They were all giving each other the hardest time. Michael kept complaining about going straight up the mountain, Fred kept wanting to take over and "drive" since we were getting lost so many times, Godfrey was calling everyone weak, and Peter and his amazingly positive attitude kept reminding us all that we set out to have an adventure.

And that we did!

At one point I couldn't look back because I knew I would have lost my balance and fallen off that mountain. I met a 13 year old boy that had built his own house. We had to get 2 boys with large, large knives to cut our way to the very top. We walked past a school that consisted of poles, a bamboo roof, and 4 small benches. And I met a traditional doctor and the houses where the gods live. They look like little tiny mud huts with bamboo roofs. One (the bigger one) for the male gods and another for the female gods. You come to him with your sickness, he offers a chicken (I saw the remnants to prove it) to the gods, I'm pretty sure you pay them somewhere in there, and then the gods tell him how to fix you. Fred says it doesn't work. He's never tried it. How can he know? J I want to know what the gods sound like when they talk to you.

The view was beautiful from the top. I could almost see Kenya. It was just on the other side of the farthest mountain, Mt. Elgon. One thing that puzzles me. People live at the top of this mountain. They have to go down to the valley every day for water…and then come back up with it!!!! I asked why they don't move, and the answer was that they don't move. Not satisfactory. Because this is where they were born and where their ancestors are from. Where would they move to? Where is there a place to go to? This is their home. This is where they have always lived.

Not me. I would be in that valley in a heartbeat. I climbed that mountain once. I would not do it every day, with 10 gallons of water on my head.

I can understand why religious places are often on the tops of mountains. You feel closer to God. You feel like you have worked to be where you are. You have sacrificed. It is peaceful, and you can see all of God's great creations surrounding you for miles and miles. Not everyone will reach. Only those that are determined. Only those that want it enough. Only those that know that it was worth every minute of pain and effort and sweat to finally reach the top to be greeted with that incredible view. Up at the top you can see clearly. You can see how everything works together, how everything is connected, where you have come from and where you are going. Everything makes sense like it never did before. And it's best to enjoy all of this with friends.

It is the same with the gospel.

Introduction

We're still confused as to whether or not this is a traditional wedding or not, and to when this happens in the timeline of the courtship. By all intents and purposes, western thought would say the introduction (which must happen before marriage) would happen at the beginning of the courtship, kind of like a really expensive engagement party. But, for almost all the people we have talked to, this is not the case. The couple that was being introduced had been together for 14 years and already had 2 children. The wedding is in June. Right.

What is an introduction, you might ask? In a nutshell, it is a formal gathering where the woman introduces the man she will marry to her family. It happens at the home of the woman's parents, in formal traditional wear, involves a lot of humor, jokes, and trickery, as well as the paying of the dowry by the man and a wedding type cake accompanied by a feast at the end. Quite an experience!

Lasting over 8 hours, I will just give you my personal realizations.

#1 Ugandans are freaking hilarious. The whole entire event was based on humor. I have noticed this at school too – they are always teasing, making fun, laughing, and being sarcastic. I love it. I didn't get half of the jokes because they revolved around things like "his head is now like the knees of a goat" (roars of laughter from the whole audience, silence from the three Mzungus), but I could tell that the point of the event is to get together and enjoy an evening of "rucous" entertainment based. The woman's side waits for the man's side to arrive – in this case 2 hours late. A penalty for which they are "fined". These fines are all part of the show and all part of the expected dowry. The woman's side seeks out every opportunity to fine the man's side, like sitting before being told they can sit, or wearing sunglasses, or drinking before being told to drink, or not knowing the Ugandan national anthem. With all the questions from the woman's side to the man's, you would have thought we were at an African game of Jeopardy.

#2 They do it right in Uganda. Men should have to pay for the wedding.

#3 I absolutely love to take pictures. And I took way too many. They even made a joke about how I was an American journalist. And then everyone wanted to get in a picture with us.

I can't begin to explain the whole process. It's too involved and includes too many players, with the bride and groom hiding from everyone and each other, people having to guess who is who, etc.

My favorite parts were these:

All of the single women from the "house" (all kinds of crazy relatives) parade in front of the man's party (sitting on the opposite side of the yard from the woman's) in their best gomases (traditional wear for women), best makeup and hair done perfectly. This is so that all the single men can see what is currently on the market. They do the same with the men (also wearing traditional dress which looks dangerously close to muslim garb). I found this to be quite amusing. J

Getting up in front of the whole 300+ people and saying "Thank you for having us, my name is Hollie Pollan" in Luganda, and having the whole group erupt in surprise and content that a mzungu was speaking their language.

The bringing in of the dowry. WOW!!!!!! All of the women from the man's side went out to collect the dowry, which they brought in on their heads in a single file line, one right after the other, that lasted more than 15 minutes. It was gorgeous. The men carried the heavy things, like bunches of matooke (green bananas), giant bags of flour and sugar, a carcass of a cow, crates of coke, and a whole living room set of furniture. The groom also paid 2 cows, 3 goats, and one cock. You would not have believed the booty this lady raked in! Richard the translator said the woman's parents would share all the dowry with extended family, friends and neighbors. There is no way they could eat all that food.

Lessons learned: Everything takes longer than you imagine in Uganda. When the back right wheel of the car is making a funny sound like the wheel is about to fall off, it's because it's about to fall off. No matter where you go, someone will always ask you to take them back to the US with you.

Sipi Falls

Hello! Gorgeous! Wish you were here!

What is it about gallons and gallons of falling water that is always so mezmorizing? There's something about water that is soothing too. Everyone always loves the ocean. We travel far to go to lakes and fish in rivers and hike to all sorts of places to see waterfalls. Water is refreshing, rejuvenating, fun. I am one of those that will hike to all sorts of places just to see a waterfall.

And these were beautiful. Not the most impressive height-wise, but GORGEOUS with all the flora. It was like being in a tropical paradise. Oh wait…I am! J Hiking through trees heavy with trumpet flowers and bananas, brilliant green everything as far as the eye can see is definitely my idea of a great weekend.

The hostel where we stayed reminded me of the girl's camp cabins and I actually ate "chips" and salsa! But my favorite part was Sunday morning early early, sitting on one of the outdoor couches, snuggled in a blanket, watching it pour, and discussing religious things with Amy. The night before we had a great talk with Viola, the Ugandan nurse at the clinic attached to the school, about always having Heavenly Father as your guide. These people are always so grateful, even with the little that they have. I think it is because they put God first in their lives. Viola is a happy, smart, fulfilled person. I would venture to say that those who have God in their lives tend to be grateful. Heavenly Father is always first and as such is always the giver of all good things. We must say thanks. J And I would venture to say that grateful people enjoy a greater sense of satisfaction from life. They are more content with their surroundings and are generally happy on a level separated from material things. I've realized I need to have more talks like these in my life. I love how much everyone here is so focused on spiritual things.

It's nice to have some contemplation time. And what better place than enjoying Heavenly Father's great creations? I would say that we all need contemplation time, no matter what your religion or personal beliefs. It helps to get back in touch with who you are and where you are going. Life makes us forget. A little quiet can help us remember.

Catch Me If You Can

Today we went to a neighboring school's field to run track and field. There is a competition this next and we're getting ready. The field is probably a little larger (maybe one and a half times) than a full size track, made into a circle. The whole school was there, ready to run, ready to race, ready to have fun! By the time we arrived, most students had finished their warm-up running. I joined the stragglers on the last lap. When I reached the rest of the group, Teacher Michael said all the students wanted to run one more lap with me! After already running 6?! Of course I said YES and took off. I think they were surprised to see me running. I kicked it up a notch, the children screamed to catch up, and two little boys came up behind me panting, "You will never leave us behind!" "Catch me if you can!' And then they totally beat me. That was fun. Surrounded by adorable screaming children. I'm ok with being surrounded by them. They don't suffocate. And they don't stare. They just love and smile.

Let the games begin! We practiced racing, javelin, and discus. I even raced with one group of girls, much to everyone's excitement. I think I am out of shape. Those little girls whooped my butt! And they loved every minute of it. I could see it in the girl's eyes that was standing right next to me. It didn't matter if she was first, as long as she was before me. J

My favorite part, however, was sitting with the students just watching, enjoying everyone. And why not start a little political debate. I surveyed the children about their thoughts on Museveni (M7 as they write it in the papers) and if they think Uganda, Tanzania and Kenya will really become one East Africa country in 2011. I'm really impressed with those little 6^th graders. Great debate. Most thought Museveni was good. Some thought he was bad. All agreed that he has been in power too long and they need another president. One student in particular, Joshua, had much to say, citing the fact that other leaders wanted M7 to step down before the E. Africa elections, but he didn't think he would. I loved it. They were all crowded around, bright eyed and eager to add to the conversation. I can imagine that is what Socrates felt like. J Not that I am in any way comparing myself to Socrates. But I just had a moment when I realized that the students were actually interested in what it was we were talking about and were leaning in closer to be a part of the conversation. Desert Storm was my 6^th grade year. So it's not too much to ask a 6^th grader to be interested in politics, but I was impressed with the responses from everyone. Especially my darling little Joshua who's favorite thing to do at home is graze his cows and milk them.

Then it started to rain, and when it rains, it POURS. One little boy, Nimrod (I smile every time I think about his name), ran up to catch my hand and run toward shelter together. Today was a good day. I think they are becoming more comfortable with me. I think they are letting me into their hearts. It's days like this when I think I might actually have an impact on one or two children, despite my short time of being here.

Traditions of their Fathers

Having a week to contemplate, and time to physically recover, I have had many thoughts on my first personal experience with circumcision. J I have come to understand more fully the term "traditions of their fathers". In the eyes of many people in the community (all of them God-fearing), circumcision is right, but the rituals and traditional celebrations that accompany it are not. Many boys, 16-18, get in their heads that now that they have undergone circumcision they are men who are ready to be on their own, marry, have relationships, etc. Many of them drop out of school, get involved with women, and take up the habits of the older generation. Anciently, this was the time for men to marry and leave home. But with education, things have changed. Teacher Peter will have his children go through circumcision, but he will not have them dance in the celebrations because of what it symbolizes. Headmaster Thomas openly condemned the rituals in an assembly to the whole school, saying circumcision is good but the traditions that follow are not. Remember, children, that you are still boys and that you are still in school.

I found out yesterday that one of my favorite students in the sixth grade has "disappeared". He's been absent from school for 3 days, now, which is directly related to ideas he has adopted and influences he has accepted in light of his recent passage to manhood. Sixth grade!!! He might be 15 (age does not necessarily matter in grades as much here as in the US). And already he has begun drinking and forming ideas that do not fit his age and station in life.

I have often wondered how much "western" influence is good. How much of your culture should you lose to education, technology, westernization? Luckily Uganda is one place McDonalds has not yet conquered. But I have wondered if education and modernization do more bad than good. What is a good balance between the two? How can you reconcile both? Education is essential to breaking the poverty cycle. Knowledge is power. We believe technology is good. I have often struggled with the fact that adopting education and technology often go hand in hand with adopting western culture. Just yesterday I was talking with Thomas about how "fat" is a good word here. Africans like their women with curves and a little bit extra to hold on to. But this is also changing…and girls are falling into the same traps here as in America, starving themselves, trying to be skinny, etc. But there is no doubt in my mind people are better off with more education than less. I have even seen it here – those that are educated live far better lives than those that are "peasants".

From this past week's experience I have found that culture is good. I fully support remembering who you are and where you come from. I have also realized that with culture comes tradition, most of which is good, some of which is bad. I understand on a greater level the idea how people can be corrupted by the traditions of their fathers. I understand better how not all traditions should be kept, that we must use good judgment in deciding what is good and what is not. In this case, education and religion have taught the people that the rites and traditions that follow circumcision often lead to sorrowful consequences and loss of interest in education. Sometimes, maybe, the original reason that began the tradition is lost in the celebrating of it. (Wow – the thought of Christmas flashed in my head right when I wrote that). With time, truths and reasons may be lost in place of pomp and circumstance.

And this is a decision we have to make in every culture. What are the good traditions, and which will we let fall away?

I haven't yet come to a conclusion on how to introduce education and technology while still preserving the beauty of one's culture. And maybe that's not even the question. Maybe cultures evolve and this is just another step in their evolution. Which leads me to think what is it that defines your "culture" anyway?

Food for thought.