Gulu, Uganda

by Emily Sernaker

After a brief intermission, I am continuing my travels with Wellspring International; moving from the crowded streets of Mumbai, India, to dirt road villages of Gulu, Uganda. Having seen so much in two months, I sometimes wonder what will stay with me about my summer of mangos and malaria pills. My summer of ‘if it feels like something is crawling on you, that's because it is.’ I can feel my patience growing, personal space shrinking, hands washing off the red dirt, bug spray, sunscreen, sweat, baby snot, caked on my skin and think: today was a good day. My summer of ‘the rest of the world knows so much about us and we know so little about the rest of the world.’ A few more stamps in my passport to show where I've been, a few more inches of fabric to cover my knees. This is a summer of hospitality, crazy ‘they have nothing but still offer you everything’ hospitality. ‘Don't compliment her earrings because she'll take them off and give them to you’ hospitality. I am opening my eyes as wide as I can but I still can't take in all this sky. Doctors, nurses, teachers, lawyers, headmasters, accountants, construction workers, program directors: let's have a meeting. What does it mean to give effective and sustainable aid? This is my summer of crimes against humanity, the burns and bullet holes; I might go home and say I saw hell. How many miles are those women walking for clean drinking water? How many white people have taken their picture and walked away? This joyful summer of bright fabrics and toothy smiles, you can hold my hand and teach me how to dance. I've stopped trying to guess what's coming next. The road is redder, plants greener, drum beats harder then I'd remembered.
And when I see a woman sitting outside a hut, braiding another's hair, or watch a bird sit peacefully on top of a buffalo, everything inside me becomes calm. I might go home and say I saw Eden.