James in Istanbul

Quick Update: I Finished my Second Year of Div School

Thu, 21 May 2009 03:56:02 GMT

First off, it has been forever since I have updated the blog. Please accept my apologies. Here's a quick update:

The last you heard, I was returning to California to visit Keneth, a young man I knew from Uganda, who my church had arranged to have life saving heart surgery. The surgery was an overwhelming success. In fact, Keneth and my home church were featured in the Marin IJ: http://www.marinij.com/marinnews/ci_10206384. Keneth quickly recovered and made many friends during his three-month stay in America including Congresswomen Lynn Woolsey. During his stay he spoke throughout the San Francisco Bay Area about the plight of poverty in Uganda particularly its impact upon AIDS orphans.

Keneth returned to Uganda in November and founded an NGO called Hope for African Children Ministries. As the head of the NGO, Keneth hopes to one-day help Ugandan AIDS orphans like himself. In fact, he has already started. Check out his NGO's blog: http://www.hfacm.blogspot.com.

After visiting Keneth I returned to Yale in September for my second year of Divinity School, which I completed just two weeks ago! During the year I interned at Bedford Presbyterian Church in Bedford, New York (do not worry it was just over the border from Connecticut), wrote a 37 page long 'Magnus opus' about my research in Istanbul under the supervision of Dr. Sallama Shaker, the Deputy Minister for Foreign Affairs for Egypt, attended the Obama inauguration, spent a week in rural Nicaragua building houses with the youth group from Bedford Presbyterian Church, and managed to take five academic classes on top of all this.

Needless to say I had a great time. This summer I will be in New Haven, Connecticut interning at a nearby hospital as a chaplain. So now I only have one more year left of divinity school left.

Turkey Photos

Fri, 08 Aug 2008 12:27:04 GMT

I got back to Istanbul from my travels around Turkey today. I just posted my photos from my trip: http://www.flickr.com/photos/46957410@N00/

Prayer Request for Keneth

Wed, 06 Aug 2008 08:06:52 GMT

Kıyıja Keneth, a friend and spiritual brother of mine from Uganda is having heart surgery today. Please keep Keneth in your thoughts and prayers today.

Below is an article about Keneth whıch Ben Hulan, a fellow church member instrumental in arranging the surgery, wrote. If you are in the Bay Area and would like to help Keneth please email Ben at benhulan@comcast.net

"Thanks to the efforts of a handful of people at our little church in Mill Valley, Kiyija Keneth is flying from Kampala, Uganda to San Francisco, CA for heart surgery. He will be here for eight weeks beginning August 2nd! This is a behind-the-scenes look at how it all came to fruition:

A Calling, of Sorts

James Christie approached me in May of 2007 to be the convener of a church task force overseeing our ministry to a young man he had met in Uganda. Kiyija Keneth’s father died of AIDS in 2005. Keneth was described as a joyful and intelligent young man of faith who needed help with his college tuition – he was born with a hole in his heart and could not do the sort of manual labor his peers might to pay for their own education. James told me to exchange email with Keneth about once a month and have a ten minute conversation with him twice a year. I would also need to organize a special collection and maintain a poster board at the church with correspondence from Keneth. Somewhat reluctantly, I agreed. More than 300 emails and a dozen phone calls later, I am glad I did. This is not my story, but the story about a young survivor from far away.

The church held a special collection on Father’s Day in honor of Keneth’s father. In a few weeks, our collection amounted to about $750. But I had just learned that several African Universities had been accused of mis-handling wire transfers from churches like ours. In some situations, money just disappeared. I decided to transfer the funds in two batches – the first batch was a test to make sure it would work. I did not know it at the time, but Keneth had been suspended because of the balance due on his tuition. Fortunately, both installments arrived safely and Keneth was back in school on August 11th, 2007.

A Man on a Mission

Keneth was busy that fall. He lived with his mother and two younger sister in their clay hut a small village eleven miles from campus. On Mondays he would walk to school, unless he could afford a ride. He would attend class all day, do his homework and often sleep on the floor of a friend with campus housing. He would walk home on Friday evenings and spend the weekend with his family, selling fruit and African arts and crafts and doing laundry to help make ends meet. In spite of these apparent hardships, Keneth was so successful in school that he was elected as the leader of his class of ninety students in the Tourism department. (Under the British system, a student’s major field of study is assigned by the college.) In his spare time, Keneth began pursuing his real passion and founded a not-for-profit organization called Hope for African Youth Ministries, to bring Jesus, soccer and dental hygiene to AIDS orphans in the community of Masaka, a jungle village four hours from his home in Kampala. He spent several holidays serving missions to this village and sent a beautiful report of his journey which I have yet to fully share with the congregation.

Ugandan Cowboy for Jesus

We continued to exchange almost daily emails and a few phone conversations during that time and developed a friendly cultural trade. Keneth is curious about American Cowboys, their ability to survive in the wild frontier. He taught me religious phrases in Luganda such as Mukama Yebazibwe (Praise God!). James taught him to say, “Howdy, Pardner,” and I taught him “YEE HAW!” He calls himself a Ugandan Cowboy for Jesus. He told me a story about a time when he was a boy of thirteen, playing with friends by a lake. He did not know how to swim, but he went in the water anyway. His friends were teasing him, pushing him under the water, and he started to drown. His friends got scared and they ran away. Keneth blacked out, but found himself alive hours later, puking blood on the shore, alone. He was certain that God had saved him, intending for him to live.

A String of Coincidence

Back in present-day Mill Valley, our second collection came from the Christmas Giving Tree. This time we collected about $350 which we sent after the New Year. It was at about this time that Linda Clever met Paul and Camilla Burraston – a young couple from South Africa who were living in Mill Valley and had been attending another UCC church in San Francisco. They happened into our church one day to see if it was a good fit. The Burrastons had close family connections with a hospital in South Africa and Linda began asking Keneth’s doctor some critical questions about his heart condition.

Meanwhile, James told me that his friends Brian and Renee were heading to Uganda for their own work. I met Brian one afternoon to give him some gifts from our community. Brian works for a non-profit in the City dedicated to stopping the spread of Malaria. You can read about Brian and Renee’s amazing trip at their blog: http://brianandreneeinuganda.blogspot.com/

By mid-February, we were considering Keneth’s much-needed heart surgery. We had a bid for surgery in South Africa for less than $30,000. Keneth’s doctor in Uganda revealed to us that his heart condition was actually much more serious than he had ever told his patient. We got another bid for surgery in India for about $18,000. On February 28th, Keneth wrote to me to say he had contracted Malaria, due to a weakened immune system.

The situation was tenuous, but we identified the need for a large sum of money and the Burraston’s immediately began planning a private fund raiser on Keneth’s behalf. Within a few weeks, Paul and Camilla raised over $12,000 at their private event for Keneth. Although it was not enough for our surgery, it was more than enough to cover travel and incidental expenses for Keneth and a nurse or family member.

Ask and Ye Shall Receive!

Then, on April 6th, Linda Clever shared with us the good news that Michael Holdsworth, CFO of the California Pacific Medical Center agreed to host Keneth’s surgery here in San Francisco, gratis, and that Cardiac Surgeon Michael Black would be asked to do the same. Suddenly, our dream of saving the life of this young man became a viable option.

I had been vague with Keneth up to this point, because I did not want to offer this young man any promises we could not deliver. In May, I finally told Keneth that we would get him his surgery. He wrote back saying, “This is my best day I have ever had in my life… God knew that I am poor and He wanted me to stay alive and be productive in my Life that is why He gave you to me so that He can use you to see that my heart is fixed. Thank you very much. Webale Nyo! Mukama Abewe omukisa! (May God bless you all.)”

Linda Clever continued to work tirelessly for the next few months, always asking informed questions and arranging a veritable army of medical professionals to generously donate their own time and resources to help make this possible. Although it is not the focus of this article, Linda’s role in this process cannot be overstated.

Visa Woes

The next step was the visa application – an intense bureaucratic process. I was asked to write a letter from the church on April 22nd , but I didn’t understand who I was writing to, or what needed to be said. I wasted a solid month trying to figure it out. (I should’ve asked someone!) It turns out that we needed to communicate to the Ugandan government that Keneth was coming to the US for heart surgery – an “urgent humanitarian need” – the church would be financially responsible for him and he was planning to return after recovery. When I finally realized what needed to be written, it was almost too late. My letter was approved in a church meeting and it was quickly added to several others to make a strong case for Keneth’s visa. Had it not been for the savvy of Camilla Burraston, I’m not sure Keneth would be coming here at all.

We asked Keneth to pick someone to travel with him. He needed someone who would be prepared to deal with any situation, should there be complications with his surgery. Keneth chose his sister, Joyce Nakyazze. Joyce is ten years older than Keneth; married, with children.

Camilla scheduled a visa application appointment for Keneth and his sister on July 10th, 2008 –the only available appointment that month. Dr. Black was going on vacation on July 17th and I did not know his return date. I was concerned that Keneth would not have time for his surgery and recovery to continue his studies next fall. I contacted our congressional representative Lynn Woolsey’s office with a request to intervene. I was visiting family in Virginia at the time and unwittingly created a lot of additional paperwork for Camilla.

Our final application included letters from the church, our congressional representative, Keneth’s doctor in Uganda, CPMC heart surgeon Dr. Michael Black, CPMC/Sutter Health representative Dr. Stephen Lockhart, a bank statement from the church, a letter from Joyce's employer as well as a letter from the mission Keneth works with. We couldn't get a letter from Makarere University as they were on vacation so Camilla wrote another letter, just in case.

Lynn Woolsey’s office contacted the Vice Consul at our embassy in Kampala, who requested that Keneth contact him directly for an expedited visa appointment. Keneth attempted to contact the Vice Consul, but he could not get through. The Vice Consul contacted me on July 9th to say he hadn’t heard from Keneth. Keneth had his appointment as scheduled on July 10th and was granted his visa. His sister Joyce was denied hers. The embassy in Kampala would not allow anyone to travel with Keneth, but welcomed us to try again, at a cost of $131 per application. Even so, our interaction with Congresswoman Woolsey’s office was not a complete waste of time – Keneth’s visa was extended to allow for up to nine weeks for the surgery and recovery, as compared to our requested six week visa.

California, Here He Comes!

When we realized that Keneth must travel alone, we immediately booked his flight. (Camilla had prepared a bogus itinerary in advance, to lock in on a lower airfare.) Kiyija Keneth will be here on August 2nd. He will have a complete physical exam and then his surgery will be performed a few days later.

WHAT CAN I DO TO HELP?

Now is a great time to express your interest in helping with this literally life-saving ministry. We will be in need of visitors to Keneth at the Cathedral Hill Hotel and at the hospital. We will need meals delivered. Following his hospital stay (estimated at three weeks), I would like to arrange for Keneth to stay in our homes, among us. He will certainly be welcome in my own home for as long as we can manage, but I don’t want to be greedy. If you would like to open your home for Keneth’s recovery for a few days in August or September, please let me know.

Keneth will return to Uganda on September 26th. We are still looking for a US citizen who might accompany him home and communicate any special care instructions to his family and doctors, there.

Dozens of people put in a lot of time and money to make this a possibility. The generosity of spirit is overwhelming. The coincidences are many. Keneth will return to Uganda with a patch on his heart. I know our hearts will be changed, as well."

Traveling Around Turkey

Mon, 04 Aug 2008 14:16:37 GMT

Sorry about the lack of updates. For the past week, I have been traveling around Turkey trying to get “the tourist experience” in before heading back home. So I have been away from regular computer access and when I have stumbled across an internet café they have all had Turkish keyboards, which instead of having a normal “i,” have one without a dot. Writing emails and updating the blog has been rather difficult without that key vowel at my disposal.

I am in Capadocia at the moment. I have spent the past week in Izmir, Urla, Ephesus, Aphrodesius, and Pamukkale. By far, my favorite spot was Urla. It is a town off of the tourist trail. I went there for an interview with a Turkish professor who teaches Islamic Studies at a Catholic University in Minnesota and has been active in Muslim-Christian dialogue since 1980. The interview took place under a tree on a plot of land he owns outside of town. Afterwards, I spent the day with him, his wife, and his daughter. We ate a lot of fruit grown on the land, talked for hours, and spent a great deal listening to the wind while appreciating the stunning surrounding views.

Aphrodesius was also great. It is one of the most well preserved Roman ruins in the world and boasts the world’s most well preserved Roman stadium. The stadium is nearly 100% intact and could still house the 30,000 seat capacity of Roman times. There were hardly any tourists around either and I spent a 10 minutes alone in the stadium. Not since the Taj Mahal has a manmade wonder taken my breath away like the stadium did.

I have also had a few Turkish baths in the past week. This is when you enter a steam room where a very hairy and pot-bellied Turk gets you all soapy and then manhandles you for 15 minutes. I highly recommend it.

I am fine part II

Mon, 28 Jul 2008 07:24:52 GMT

As many of you may have heard there were bomb blasts last night in Istanbul killing 16 and wounding over 150. I was far away from the blasts and am fine. They were in a part of town I have never gone anywhere near. You can read about the blasts here: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/28/world/europe/28turkey.html?ex=1374984000&en=c5f4f356221c4742&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

Also, I will be leaving Istanbul this evening to travel to Izmir and Ephesus. Plus, I have uploaded a few more pictures to flcikr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/46957410@N00/

Muslim-Christian Dialogue

Sun, 20 Jul 2008 10:41:22 GMT

My research that has been keeping me busy although I have had a lot of fruitful interviews recently. On Friday, I interviewed within a four-hour period and across two continents, Mustafa Akyol, a reporter for the Turkish Daily News, who had an article published in the latest Newsweek and Barbara Baker, a bureau chief for Compass Direct, a news organization covering Christian persecutions.

Yesterday I attended a meeting for journalists and researchers hosted by the Journalist and Writers Foundation, a Turkish organization committed to interfaith dialogue. On top of being informative it was also pretty cool getting to sit in a room full of diplomats and reporters from the world’s foremost news organizations and feeling, oddly enough, like I actually belonged.

On Wednesday I partied with a couple of Fulbright scholars. We took tequila shots and danced to live gypsy jazz in a hipster café late into the evening. Granted waking up the next morning at seven, on a friend’s couch, with the sun shining directly in my face was not the greatest way to start out my Thursday. But luckily, I did not have my first interview scheduled until the late afternoon.

The highlight of my week was yesterday evening. I interviewed Ahmet and Nuhullah on their perceptions of Muslim-Christian dialogue. Throughout the interview they made some statements that made me uncomfortable. For example, there is a verse in the Qu’ran that says that God would have never allowed the Jews (i.e. the Pharisees) to kill Jesus although they thought they had killed him. Some Muslim scholars have interpreted the verse to mean that Jesus was never crucified. Instead someone who looked like him, possibly Judas, was crucified instead. Nuhallah said this to me last night, right after expressing his belief that Jesus was not God.

This made me nervous because I had never explained Christian orthodoxy, let alone my own beliefs, to them. I was worried that there would be a lot of tension from the clash of our beliefs. In fact, I thought they might kick me out of their restaurant and yell at me if I ever told them my beliefs. In Islam, God is one and to suggest otherwise, such as Jesus being God, the Trinity notwithstanding, is the highest blasphemy. Instead, Jesus is merely a prophet, although a great one, who according to Sufis emphasized God’s love. So, I avoided the topic until they straight out asked me what I believed. I hesitated at first but then responded by telling them about the virgin birth (which, by the way, is in the Qu’ran), the Trinity, Christ’s ministry, the parable of the Good Samaritan, the highlights from the Sermon on the Mount, the crucifixion, the resurrection, and Christ’s ascension into heaven (which is also in the Qu’ran). I ended by emphasizing how Jesus preached love and forgiveness. In fact, Jesus forgave those who crucified him as he was on the cross.

After I told them this, Ahmet and Nuhallah smiled at me.

“Muhammad preached love and forgiveness too! So did his son-in-law Ali!”

We then spent the next hour talking about the similarities of our faiths.

Istanbul Photos V

Sun, 20 Jul 2008 08:56:35 GMT

Another batch of photos have been uploaded to flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/46957410@N00

I am fine

Wed, 09 Jul 2008 09:21:57 GMT

I do not know if you have heard the news but there was a shooting
today outside of the US Istanbul consulate. I am fine. So is Amy and
Kishor. The shooting was probably local violence that just happened to
occur in front of the consulate.

The Sri Lankans

Tue, 08 Jul 2008 13:22:26 GMT

I am going to try to keep the update section to a minimum this week and emphasize my observations of the Sri Lankans.

I spent much of this last week, as I did the past few, interviewing people on Muslim-Christian dialogue, networking for future interviews, helping the Sri Lankans with their English, and getting in some sightseeing. In other words, I have settled into a routine and what an awesome routine it is. The wealth and complexity of this city, not to mention the topic I am researching, is impossible to capture in words. Coming here was a very good idea. And now onto some observations…

-I live in Etiler, the most exclusive neighborhood in Istanbul, with my best friend and her husband. I am not embellishing when I write that Etiler is the Greenwich of Turkey. On my way to the metro station I pass not only Akmerkez, an upscale mall whose sparkle and class dwarfs in many respects its counterparts in America, but also Porsche, Jaguar, and Aston Martin dealerships.

As I sit here in Amy and Kishor’s apartment writing, all I have to do is tilt my head slightly, to see the apartment balcony of Turkey’s President. I have heard that Istanbul has the third largest collection of the world’s millionaires. I imagine many of them live within three blocks of me.

-Contrast this with the Sri Lankan refugees I am working with: Six of them, along with a Congolese and Sudanese refugee, sleep in a church basement. They have no bed stands. Instead they each sleep on three mattresses right on top of another. A few years ago, the mattresses covered the floor, as there were 30 refugees living in the basement.

For many years the church was deconsecrated. The faux-gothic stonework was falling to pieces and nearly all the stained glassed windows were broken. Now with the support from of a tiny congregation, the stonework is merely crumbling and only about half the windows have peppered with holes and cracks. Although the repairs fail to hide the vacant buildings neighboring the church in the process of collapsing. Many of them looked bombed. In fact, many of them, probably were bombed during the pogrom of 1955, when the homes and businesses of Istanbul’s Greek Orthodox community were systematically destroyed. If I were not posting this on the Internet or in Turkey I would tell you by whom. But I will refrain for not wanting to break Turkish law.

The refugees, the oldest 32, while the rest are young men between the ages of 21 and 26, have fled Sri Lanka because of a war fought since before their birth. Two weeks ago, I asked Samson, the youngest, who had recently been released from a Turkish prison after trying to enter a European country on a false passport, why he had left Sri Lanka. He answered by putting his hands together as if aiming a gun and saying “bang bang. Boom boom.”

Samson, last week at the curry party, with alcohol on his breath, gave me a hug that lasted a good thirty seconds. At one point he even burrowed his head into my chest. I suspect it was not just out of gratitude for my English lessons.

He once described his experience in prison to me. For eight months he was confined to a cold cement room with 300 other men. There was only one toilet, in public view, between them. About a month before he left, one of his fellow inmates, although Turkish government officially calls him a ‘guest’ (since where they are living is officially called a “hotel”), complained of stomach pains. He told the guards that he had run out of medicine and that he had a history of heart attacks. The guards ignored him. He died a few hours later.

Samson, like two of the other Sri Lankans are Hindu. The other three are Christian. Because of their faith, they are according to the United States government, on the wrong side of the war. The Sri Lankan government is controlled by Buddhists, who according to my friends, have done little to help the Hindu, Islamic, and Christian minorities. As a result, the Tamil Tigers, revolted against the government some 30 years ago and there has been havoc in the jungles and villages ever since. The Tigers are considered terrorists by the United States government (in fact, most people consider them to be terrorists and they probably are). Therefore, my friends have little chance of finding refuge in America. Instead, if they are lucky and wait a few years, they might end up in Canada, London, or Finland.

But until then they bide their time in the basement of Christ Church watching Tamil television, lifting weights, and sometimes venture out to grab the ingredients for a curry. While out they make an effort to avoid the police. Although each has an official letter recognizing (though not legalizing) his refugee status, they know the police can harass and extract bribes from them.

Istanbul Photos IV

Tue, 08 Jul 2008 11:25:08 GMT

I visited Topkapi Palace, home of the Ottoman Sultans for 400 years, and the remains of Hippodrome over the weekend. Photos can be found at:http://www.flickr.com/photos/46957410@N00

Also, I am using pseudonyms now when referring to my Sri Lankan friends and, in order to protect people's privacy, I am making all photos of people on Flickr as viewable by friends and family only. You can see them but you have to become my flickr friend.

Istanbul Photos III

Wed, 02 Jul 2008 09:42:12 GMT

I uploaded some more photos today. You can get them at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/46957410@N00/

Tue, 01 Jul 2008 09:52:29 GMT

Last week was another fun one in Istanbul. I preached again on Sunday at Christ Church and am still working with the Sri Lankan refugees in helping them improve their English. On Saturday evening Amy, Kishor, and I went out to Christ Church for a curry party hosted by the Sri Lankans. The food was "off the hook" and there was lots of it. It was also Sugeevan's birthday. He turned 23.

On Thursday, I interviewed Cemal Usak, the Vice President of the Journalist and Writers Foundation, for my Muslim-Christian dialogue project. He is very active in Turkish Muslim-Christian dialogue and it was a very productive interview.

In a bit of bad news, I suffered from a mighty sunburn yesterday while lounging by the pool and reading "Three Cups of Tea" (a great book by the way). I am currently Larry the Lobster red.

On Tuesday I visited the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia. Pictures can be found on my flickr page: http://www.flickr.com/photos/46957410@N00/.

Well, I am about to head off to teach another lesson with the Sri Lankans. I will try to post some random tidbits and observations in the next few days.

Sri Lankan Chicken Curry

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 10:15:43 GMT

Here is the Sri Lankan Chicken Curry recipe I promised earlier in the week. It has been provided by the Sri Lankan refugees I have been teaching English to at Christ Church.

-1 kilo chicken (can replace with beef or fish. Vegetarians can exclude)
-250 g tomato
-250 g potato
-3 tbls chili (or curry) powder
-A small cube of “beef soup mix” (I have no idea what this is and the Sri Lankans had trouble explaining it to me in English. It is a little cube of gelatin/powder, the size of maybe five quarters, wrapped in foil)
-2 white onions
-2 tbls salt
-1/2 liter water
-Small piece of ginger
-Big piece of garlic
-2 tbls of cooking oil of your choice

-Cut all vegetables
-Fry onion and ginger in 2 tbls of oil in wok or large frying pan. Make sure the pan is covered.
-Fry until onion is gold color
-Put in chicken (or beef or fish). Cook 3-5 minutes in middle heat
-Mix in chili powder, potato. Cook 5 minutes
-Mix in tomato and water. Cook 20 minutes
-Mix in “beef soup mix” and salt. Cook 20 more minutes.

I am not sure if there were any translation issues besides the beef soup mix. Cooks, please respond with your feedback.

Preaching and English Teaching

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 10:48:17 GMT

Yesterday I preached a sermon at Christ Church. It was a high Anglican service with incense, a processional, and chanting. The Cambridge University Jesus College gospel choir also sang at the service. As the preacher I participated in the procession and spent the service seated in a “throne” near the altar except when I was preaching, bowing to the altar, or standing for prayer.

The only downside was that I had never participated in a processional before so I would sometimes bow at inappropriate times or follow the wrong deacon. Oh and I misquoted a fact. At one point I intended to say that Turkey has an unemployment rate of 15%. Instead, I said Turkey had an employment rate of 15%. This got a few smirks from the congregation. The choir was particularly amused. (Turkey would be a radically different country if the employment rate were so low). But this did not detract from my wonderful experience and the choir was amazing. They sounded like angels. I will try to post my sermon, which was well received, later this week.

Besides preparing for the sermon, I spent last week working with the Sri Lankans, who live in the basement of Christ Church, on their English. I have been mainly working with four.

Working with them has been great fun. They are all a little young than me. The youngest is 21 while the oldest is 26. So the time spent with them is really half-lesson and half-a-bunch-of-guys-chilling-and-having-a-good-time. For example one of them asked me on Thursday, “What do you say to a friend when you see a pretty girl in public?”

I responded, “You say, ‘Dude! She’s hot!’”

And then they all repeated, “Dude, she’s hot.” But, none of them were comfortable with their pronunciation so it came out as, “Duuuddde. She’s hot?”

Do not worry. I am also teaching them practical stuff.

I have also been researching for my project. Last week I interviewed the pastor at Istanbul’s largest Protestant church and I have been networking. This Thursday I will be interviewing a famous journalist. I called him on Friday to set up the interview.

Ring ring ring.

“Hello,” answered the journalist’s secretary.

“Yes, my name is James Christie. I am calling for Cemal Usak. I was referred to him by ______ ______. I am a student at Yale Divinity School. I am researching Christian-Muslim dialogue.”

“What is the name of your institution?”

“Yale Divinity School.”

“Hold on.”

------------

“Yes, he is currently interviewing the President. He will call you back in 10 minutes.”

-I am foregoing the random tidbit section due to the length of this week’s blog.

Aunt Marg Section
-I got a recipe for Chicken Curry from the Sri Lankans (which is very good—although you might not want to put in as much spice as they do). I will post it later this week.
-Oh and Turkish kabobs are good. They are not spicy (which the Sri Lankans complain about) although they are very oily.

Istanbul Photos II

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 13:41:17 GMT

I tried to walk to Asia yesterday and failed. Photos of my adventure have been posted on flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/46957410@N00/.

Istanbul Photos I

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 18:02:05 GMT

I have no idea how to upload photos to live journal. Instead I uploaded all my Istanbul photos to Flickr. I hope this is not an inconvenience. You can check out my photos at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/46957410@N00/

My flickr screen name is James Christie and my account name is Trecendend. I do not know if you need to know that info to view the photos. Please let me know if you cannot.

Serious Jet Lag and Stumbling Upon Some Sufis

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 10:52:27 GMT

I am starting up my blog again now that I am in Turkey. I plan to update it once a week and will be dividing each entry into three sections. The first will be a brief update. The second will be random observations/musings and greater details from the first section. The last will be the “Aunt Marg section.” My Aunt Marg has a passion for cooking and wants me reporting on my culinary experience. Plus, I will be including pictures. I have not taken any yet. But just for you all, I will take some and they should be up in a few days.

I arrived in Istanbul on Thursday morning after a 10 and half hour flight from New York. Istanbul is seven hours ahead of the east coast. So I have been suffering from jet lag. Falling asleep before 2 am has been almost impossible and waking up before 9 am has been incredibly painful.

When not moaning from jet lag induced exhaustion, I have been exploring the city, particularly the Beyoglu neighborhood, the traditional ex-patriot neighborhood. Yesterday, after attending Christ Church (an Anglican church where I will be preaching the next two Sundays), I rode the tramline to a random metro station and stumbled into a restaurant owned by a Sufi family. Sufi is essentially Islamic mysticism. The family runs the restaurant to support a magazine they publish on Sufism. After serving me a sampler of all the meats Turkish cuisine has to offer, Ahmet, the proprietor and Nurullah, his adopted son, had tea with me. We spent a good three hours talking about God. It was an amazing conversation.

I am in Istanbul researching Christian-Muslim dialogue. Ahmet and Nurullah offered to not only help me with the project but to also publish my work.

Also, yesterday I met with Ian, the rector of Christ Church. The church houses six (possibly seven) Sri Lankan refugees (although some of them might be from other parts of South Asia). I will be meeting with the refugees on a regular basis to help them with their English. Ian introduced me to them (or at least six of them. There might be a seventh) and they all seem like cool guys. It will be fun hanging out and chatting with the guys.

I am loving my time here thus far. Istanbul is amazing.

Details and Musings

-Everywhere I look in Istanbul I see young people. Half of the population is under 25—of them, a percent own a guitar. I cannot walk through this city without seeing a teenager with a guitar case slung over his or her shoulder.

-Beyoglu has been the ex-pat community for a very long time. In the 16th century, the Ottoman Sultan “gave” the neighborhood to the foreign community (which had been present in the city for a very long time before that…remember that Istanbul has been the bridge between Asia and Europe since well forever…in fact, Istanbul literally has the bridge connecting Asia and Europe).

-Beyogulu feels very old. It’s a catacomb of little curvy alleys filled with teashops and trendy cafes. In fact, the whole city feels ancient while paradoxically feeling incredibly modern. Yesterday, I walked down a set of uneven stone stairs that may have been built during the Byzantium Empire and then rode on a fresh clean tramline.

-Write me a message if you want details on anything else.

Aunt Marg/Food Section

-The meat dish I had yesterday was amazing. They were all kabobs. I will try to ask Ahmet for the recipe. Umm, I am not very good at writing about food. Aunt Marg, maybe I will just take pictures of everything I eat and post them.

News Flash

Tue, 08 May 2007 01:01:27 GMT

I know it has been forever since I posted anything but for those of you who do not know, I got into Yale Divinity School and will be heading there in the Fall to pursue a Master of Divinity. I have also been accepted to go in-care with the United Church of Christ Northern California Nevada Conference. Going "in-care" is technically, although not officially, the first step of the ordination process.

For those of you in the Bay Area: I will be preaching on Sunday June 10th at 10 am at the Community Church of Mill Valley. It is located at 8 Olive St in Mill Valley. I would love to see you there. Please email me if you have any questions or need directions.

I am currently making a living as a substitute teacher and at another job which is rather boring and not worth telling you about. Plus on Thursdays I take a class at a seminary in Berkeley. Plus there are other things on my plate, many of them church related, which although interesting, I am not going to write about.

Uganda Advice

Sat, 11 Nov 2006 16:52:40 GMT

Hello my friends. All of you should volunteer at the school I taught at in Uganda. It's real easy, all you've got to do is email the headmaster Charles: kikaayacollegeschool@yahoo.com and tell him your interested. Then buy a plane ticket to Kampala, get the proper vacinations, tie up all your affairs and try to have a few thousand dollars in savings to cover any unforeseen expenses (okay. . . so it's not that easy). In fact, here's a list of everything I wish I knew before arriving in Uganda to make your time at Kikaaya and in Uganda wonderful.

Here’s my first bit of advice. If you’re still deciding whether of not to volunteer at Kikaaya: by all means VOLUNTEER! The hospitality and your living quarters, by volunteer standards, will be above average. Charles, unlike many volunteer hosts, is a good honest man not trying to make money off of you and your students, once you learn how to discipline them, can be (and often are) angels. Unless you hide all day in your room crying, which to be honest, there will be times you’ll want to, you will have a positive life changing experience.

1. It’s best not to ask someone at Kikaaya to help you out with a serious favor. Nine times out of ten it won’t get done. Now this isn’t because Ugandans are lazy. Quiet the contrary. Most of the people at Kikaaya are overworked and underpaid. Some teachers get paid as little as $50 a month. Hence little impetus to help others. Plus, standards of personal organization are much lower.

2. Exceptions to rule 1# are Daniel, a history teacher who may live in the teacher’s compound with you (he’s the one who screams and sings to himself). Maria, another neighbor at the compound and Tony, a computer teacher and Charles’ right hand man are reliable about half of the time.

3. Ugandans are anti-confrontational. If you ask them a question which they don’t know the answer they’ll make something up. They’ll never say they, “I don’t know” or “No, I won’t do that for you.” Plus they’ll never tell you if you’re doing something which upsets them.

4. No one ever bothered to explain to me how the school works or anything that was going on at the school. A good source is the headboy and headgirl. They’re essentially the student body presidents but they wield a lot more power than their counterparts in the states. Make friends with them. It will make your life easier. Plus they can tell you what’s going on. For example, no one ever told me when the school had holidays. Often, I’d find out when I show up for class and there wouldn’t be any students around.

5. Chances are you’ll live next door to Daniel, a history teacher. He’s a great guy and always good for a laugh. But, on the downside, he often screams and sings to himself. Plus he loves to blast his music really loud while dancing, clapping, and praising Jesus. Because of the anti-confrontational nature of Ugandan culture, no one until me had ever told him to be quiet. He only gets the message half the time. Bring earplugs! You will suffer if you don’t.

6. Students are disciplined in Uganda with corporal punishment. What happens is a student lies on the ground while a teacher canes. Obviously, you won’t want to do this and you’re students know this. Because of this, if you don’t find a good alternate discipline, you have absolute bedlam in your classes. Since on average, you’ll have 70 students per class, many of whom you can’t tell apart because they all wear the same uniform and have the same haircuts. As you can imagine, learning all their names is impossible. Or, I found it to be impossible. A good alternative to caning is to humiliate them. The best way to do this is bring four bricks with you at the beginning of class. If a student is bad, have them hold the bricks above their head for five minutes and occasionally make fun of them. I know this sounds cruel. But trust me, it’s much better than the alternative and after I started employing this method, my students became angels.

7. Cheating is widely accepted. I never found an effective method to combat it.

8. When someone asks you, “Hey could I borrow some money?” What they really mean is, “Hey could you give me some money?” A good rule of thumb is to never give money to a Ugandan. 99% of the people live in poverty. Hence they need money. If you give money to some but not to others, it only creates animosity and resentment which you don’t need to deal with. Besides as a volunteer you’re on a budget and it’s hard to stay on budget when you’re giving out money.

9. An alternative to giving out money is setting aside some cash which you can donate either to Kikaaya to help out students who can’t cover their school fees or to a local NGO.

10. To be white (or Asian or well anything American) in Uganda is to be hit on. I lost track of how many women hit on me. It got so bad that I stopped going to bars. One reason is that in Uganda, there’s no shame in gold digging. Plus for many, marrying a foreigner is their only chance at getting out of Uganda. Also dating a white person is a major status symbol. This is true for both men and women. So, unless, you find someone being into you only because of your money and your skin color appealing, then your dating market is pretty much limited to other volunteers. Now, I’m sure there are some Ugandans, who will be into you, just because you’re you. But err…I wish you the best of luck at finding them.

11. You’ll notice this right away but Ugandans are ubber friendly. They’re quiet possibly, the friendliest people in the world.

12. I found that it was vital to make friends with other volunteers. A lot of intense intercultural stuff will be going on inside of you. It’s good to have another American or European to talk with about it. Plus, there are many other things you can talk about them, which Ugandans lack the frame of reference or command of English to discuss. If there isn’t another volunteer at Kikaaya, there might be some at Bulenga Modern Primary, a school which can be seen from the vocational school.

13. Another alternative to hanging out with other volunteers is getting involved in the Kampala ex-pat community. It’s pretty easy, since as I’ve noticed most ex-pats are homesick, lonely and always welcome additional company. An easy way to start is go down to Garden City in Kampala, pick up a copy of The Eye, a free ex-pat magazine at Aristoc Books, and join one of the organizations listed in the clubs & associations section.

14. If you like Indian food, go to the Masala Chaat House. It’s across the street from the National Theatre. Their Masala tea is the best in the world and the prices aren’t bad at all.

15. Always bring correct change with you in a taxi. It’s not uncommon, though it’s nothing to be paranoid about, for conductors to shortchange you.

16. Visit the Ba’hai temple. It’s one of only seven in the world. And it’s only 4 km outside of Kampala along Ggaba road. It’s a great place to go for tranquility. Another nice place is the botanical gardens in Entebbe but, alas, you have to devote a whole day to go there.

17. If you want to save money, buy your anti-malarials in Uganda. 100 tabs of Doxycycline only cost 7,500 Ush (a little over $4) in Kampala. Though be warned, 15% of people who take Doxy feel sick. And I'm not a doctor, so please follow this advice with a grain of salt.

18. A multiple-entry visa, if you have one, will only let you stay in the country for one month at a time. Although it allows you to travel in and out of the country as much as you like during the time the visa lasts. Volunteers, legally, are supposed to get work permits (yes, I know it doesn’t make any sense. You’re not making any money but volunteering is still considered work) but, in reality few people do. A legal alternative is to travel on a multiple-entry visa and take trips to Rwanda (which, if you’re American or British, is free to travel into) once a month. Or you could keep extending a single entry tourist visa, which you can get upon arrival and cross your fingers that no one at the Ministry of Internal Affairs asks you any questions.

19. The Ugandan school year starts in February and ends in December. There are three terms with four week breaks in between. There’s a two month break for Christmas in December and January. A four week break in late April and early May and another four week break sometime around August.

20. Lastly have fun and always remember laughter is the best medicine. You can’t survive overseas if you never laugh at yourself.

Fri, 22 Sep 2006 15:51:48 GMT

You submit a title, people vote on the submissions, and then these guys make a film with the winning title in 48 hours: http://www.sixfingerfist.com

Introduction to the Kikaaya College School Student Magazine

Tue, 18 Jul 2006 08:22:06 GMT

Here's the introduction to the magazine of my Ugandan student's writing. Please click on the link at the bottom and read their works.

All teachers have two fears: 1) They won’t be able to control their classes and 2) their students won’t learn anything. I know I suffered from both during my time at Kikaaya College School.

As my student Bob Kakimbo wrote, “My school is located seven miles from Kampala, the capitol of Uganda. We have many educated teachers including one teacher from out of the country, Mr. James.”

So there you see my dilemma. I was a foreigner, an American to be exact, teaching, of all topics, creative writing, in a Ugandan school. I could explain to you ad nassium why this was challenge. But I’ll boil down for you.

First, homework in Uganda is optional while walking out in the middle of class in without permission seems to be compulsory. Classroom discipline was also impossible, because, I often had seventy-something students per class. All of whom, at first, looked the same and knew that as a white man I wasn’t going to beat them like their other teachers.

Hence, in such a chaotic and migratory environment my lectures on ‘showing instead of telling’ and ‘stages of the writing process’ were rarely received. Although, for some reason, one of my lessons did get through and luckily it was the most important one. You see, I had spent my first week of lessons pacing throughout my classes, waving my chalk all about and repeating over and over again, “Write about your passions. Write what you feel strongly about. Write about you pain. Write about your pleasures. If you love something, write about it. If you hate something else, write about that. Writing is a great catharsis and if you can’t have a catharsis when you’re writing, in the very least have fun. There’s something wrong, if as a young writer, you’re not having fun.”

After I said this for the fifteenth time, a student finally got up the nerve to ask me what ‘catharsis’ meant. I provided a definition, but I don’t think it went over, because a week later the same student asked me what a sentence was.

But as is evident in this magazine, be it with my intervention or not, my students did write about their pain, their joys, and failing this, they simply had fun. So here, you’ll find poems about poverty and AIDS next to stories of monkeys escaping taxation. There are tales of mothers dying followed by bunny rabbits outwitting huge reptiles. Some of the stories here are fiction while too many of them are painfully true. I selected eighteen pieces from 504 submissions.

Each piece is preceded by an introduction to provide you with a context for the article by providing information about Uganda, Kikaaya and, in some cases, the author.

But, ultimately, the purpose of this magazine is to give voice to a people, rarely heard by the outside world, the children of Uganda.

Follow this link to read the magazine: http://www.edfordev.org/about_us/newsletters.php

Reflections Upon Teaching in Uganda

Mon, 10 Jul 2006 14:01:21 GMT

My lowest point in Uganda came in November. I was still recovering from malaria. My skin was yellow. I was sweating profusely and the country was still in disarray due to the arrest of Col. Besigye which had sparked widespread rioting. Plus, I had profound sense that no one at the school liked me. At the time my next door neighbor Daniel was screaming, “I love you Jesus” over and over again while clapping his hands. To sum up, I was scared, lonely, and, if I remember correctly, shivering too.

To get away from all this I went for a walk and as I was leaving the school compound, Wycliff, the headboy came up to me and started talking about Malaria. He mentioned how it never truly leaves your blood system. You know, how years later, a victim will be walking around, have a sudden attack and just fall over dead. The next thing I knew I was shaking Wycliff and shouting at him. I don’t remember exactly what I said. But it was something along the lines of the sadistic pleasures Wycliff must get from terrifying white people.

Yet, Wycliff’s response was cool and mature. He didn’t beat me, which he, along with every other student, had at that point in my teaching career, every right to do. Instead he calmed down and we started talking. Again, I don’t remember much of what we talked about. But I do recall how quickly the discussion became friendly.

We talked for five hours. He told me about living in The Hague, a previous white girlfriend, and his father, a Tanzanian soldier, who had ousted Idi Amin. While I spoke of my fears and insecurities. Yet, this is what sticks out the most from the evening. Simply, Wycliff told me, “James, all the students think you’re a real asshole.”

Hearing that was my turning point. Before this I was seriously contemplating going home early. But afterwards, I told myself “No! I’m going to stick it out.”

I can’t exactly describe my transformation. One of the few changes I can point to is how I relaxed. Before that evening, I had walked around Uganda with a clenched colon. There were many factors involved but the first was unrealistic expectations. For some reason, I’ve yet to fully understand, I got it into my head that my students were geniuses and just through my presence alone I could pull off a Jamie Escalante. Part of this was because teachers kept telling me how intelligent and well-behaved the students were, which, as I discovered later, was true by Ugandan standards. Yet by American standards, my students spent too much time running around the class and not enough time, if they spent any at all, on homework.

In deed, it was only a few months into teaching when I realized how overworked, disrespected, and just plain cruel fate had been to my students. To sum up, 40% of my students were AIDS orphans, the bulk of them didn’t know how they were going to pay for next term’s school fees, they were overworked from having to attend 10 hours of classes 6 days a week, they ate mass produced beans every meal, and they risked being beaten if they were caught with a girlfriend or boyfriend. Not to mention they were afflicted with your standard issue set of teen insecurities. And all of this was just tip of the iceberg. I could go on and on about the harsh lives of my students.

I remember one day, when I assigned to my classes, “Tell me a story about your life.” Seven of my students wrote about their parents’ death. So, indeed, many of my students were geniuses. They were just geniuses dealing with a lot of shit.

Of course, I too, like my students, was in a difficult situation. I was teaching creative writing to classes of 55 to 98 students, who had just mastered English a few years before, the bulk of whom had never read a book (in fact, throughout my eight months in Uganda, I only saw three people reading), and in a scholastic environment based on rote memorization.

There was one other reason why I had such a difficult time. In the months prior to volunteering, I had worked at a group home for Severely Disturbed Adolescents. In such an environment, discipline must be maintained at all times, lest the psychotic children inflict harm on themselves, one another, or you. Thrice I was attacked by African-Americans. On another occasion a client, in fact one I was quiet close with, got within an inch of my face and screamed, “you want to beat me because I’m a nigger, don’t you?” Once, though it didn’t involve a black teenager, I went to the hospital with a concussion and a back strain after a client had mowed me over during a game of capture the flag.

So there I was in Uganda, surrounded by sometimes nearly a hundred teenagers, all by myself, and each bouncing off the wall of my classrooms. In these moments, prompted by my flight or fight mechanism, I freaked out. Hence the screaming and beating on my part. Until I could reflect upon what was happening, teaching was quiet literally, and as I realize now, quiet irrationally, a struggle for my life. It was also clearly racist since on a cellular level I associated disorderly African teenagers as dangerous and violent. But thanks, to what turned out to be six months of wonderful interaction, I was able to break the connection and, I guess, you could say, become a better man.

Again, I can’t exactly pinpoint how all of this happened. Certainly I relaxed as I realized I wasn’t going to miraculous turn my students into teenage Chinua Achebes. Plus concluding my students weren’t going to kill me helped. While the next piece of the puzzle was figuring out how to teach writing to classes which didn’t read.

Due to a lack of resources and time on their part, I knew it’d be folly to give them reading assignments. Yet, the easiest way, to become a better writer, beside the act itself, is by reading. So, one day I brought in a book, if I remember correctly it was a collection of James Baldwin essays, and read it out loud. And something amazing happened. My students sat still and, a good deal of them, listened. Everyday afterwards, I’d read to the class for a half-hour. Even if my students weren’t reading the written word, at least, they were hearing it.

Although I still had another problem. Many of my students didn’t understand what it meant to be creative. Simply, I’d tell my students to write a poem and many of them would turn in the Ugandan National Anthem or a work of Robert Frost’s. To these students, the idea that there wasn’t one right way to complete my assignments was quiet terrifying. In deed, there were times I’d walk up to a student’s desk and place my fists on his desk and the child would jump away from me. Granted it didn’t take me long to understand why. Almost, everyday I’d be sitting in teacher’s lounge sipping tea, and a student, would come in, lie face down on the ground, and a teacher, cane in hand, would smack them four times in the ass. Often they’d squirm, occasionally they’d cry but always the child would grimace. And the corporal punishment was even worse at Ugandan primary schools, where the rule of thumb wasn’t in force and a teacher could beat the child until blood and mucus came out. A student once asked me, “Mr. James. Will you help us beat the teachers?” This was yet another challenge. My traumatized students couldn’t sit still and let their imaginations wander.

My solution to this dilemma, if you could call it that, was actually more of a compromise. Every lesson I included a formulaic writing technique which could be regurgitated on a test. This gave my students whose imaginations had been killed years before, at least one thing in the class they could be good at. Also, I shifted my disciplinary methods. One day I told my students, “I don’t care if you show up. As far as I’m concerned this class is optional. If you want to fail my final exam then that’s up to you. But, what I do care about is if you make noise while I’m lecturing or reading. If you’re noisy, I’ll kick you out.”

Only 17 out of 55 senior 6 students showed up for my next lesson. My other classes averaged around 70 pupils. Some classes, especially the ones with older children, I could control. My younger students, on the other hand, still reveled in bedlam. They’d even grin at me, when I’d throw them out. This went on for five weeks until I noticed a pile of bricks on my way to Senior 3, by far, my most rambunctious class.

“Hello, Senior 3,” I said as I put my lecture notes down.

“Hello, Mr. James,” the class shouted in unison as there were still a few boys chasing one another and quiet a few wades of paper being tossed about.

“You,” I said pointing at a boy sitting in the front row. The boy looked up at me from a picture he was drawing in his notebook. “And your friend too. Do you see that pile of bricks outside?”

They nodded.

“Each of you. Bring in two bricks.”

They brought in the bricks and I opened up Mandela’s Long Walk to Freedom and began reading to the class. A paragraph through I saw a girl whispering to her neighbor.

“YOU!”

The girl stopped whispering.

“WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”

She mumbled something.

“WHAT. I COULDN’T HEAR YOU,” I said as I strode towards her. I always had to walk towards students in order to hear them. My students, especially the younger ones, never made eye contact and always whispered when answering questions.

“Jane.”

“Jane. Why were you talking to your neighbor?”

She kept staring into her lap.

“JANE. WHY WERE YOU TALKING TO YOUR NEIGHBOR?”

“I wasn’t, master.”

Students, invariably, call you ‘master’ in Uganda. At first, I found the title highly disconcerting and, doubly so, the times I was called “masta James.’ Because in those moments I always had flashes of myself wearing a straw hat with whip in hand, and my student, of course, clad in stained overalls.

“Don’t lie to me Jane. I saw your lips moving.”

By this point everyone in the class, but Jane, were giggling.

“Get up.”

“What?”

“JANE, STAND UP.”

Jane stood up.

“Walk over to the bricks.”

Jane stared at me. Needless to say confused.

“I SAID, WALK OVER TO THE BRICKS.”

She walked over.

“Now, pick up two bricks.”

She hesitated.

“PICK UP THE BRICKS.”

Two bricks were now in her hand.

“Now, hold the bricks over your head.”

The giggles had, by now, turned into laughter.

“HOLD THE BRICKS OVER YOUR HEAD.”

She did.

“Hold them there for five minutes.”

I went back to reading A Long Walk to Freedom but students were still laughing.

“The next person who laughs, has to hold the other set of bricks.”

The laughter stopped and, from then on, I no longer had any problems with my younger classes.

It took time, of course, but my students eventually did relax and their imaginations became apparent. Most of their stories involved mischievous animals. One of my favorites was, Why Monkeys Live in the Bush. It was by Joseph Sseremba, one of the few Senior 2 students who’d look me in the eye as he spoke.

A very long time ago monkeys were just like people. They lived in the same villages as people. They cooked their food over an open fire like people. They lived in huts just like people. In deed, many monkeys even lived next door to people. Plus you could always find monkeys in the market selling fruits and vegetables.

Then one day the government demanded that everyone, including the monkeys, pay taxes. But the monkeys didn’t want to. So they ran away into the bush.

Now days if you go up to a monkey and tell them to come back to the villages he will just stare at you. This is because he’s remembering the taxes.

I think someday the government will change the law and force the monkeys in the bush to pay taxes. This is because, the bush is part of Uganda and everyone in Uganda has to pay taxes.

I also received some great poems. My youngest pupil, Joan Kagyezi, a girl in Senior 1 with sickle-anemia wrote the following:

Joan, Joan, Joan!

Sick on rainy days.

Sick on sunny days.

A sweater always on her body.

Very small and tall.

Kind and quiet,

Because of school conditions.

And she always thinks about

Her medicine.

By the end of my second term, I averaged 35 students a class for senior 6 and for my last two lessons, the class blessed me with perfect attendance. Many of my students wrote me goodbye letters and bought me wooden statutes of Ugandan warriors. Wycliff even gave me a Nelson Mandela shirt and organized my goodbye party.

What I remember most of my last days of teaching was my students’ laughter. A litter of kittens had just been born and I noticed students kept their distance from the tiny creatures. One day, in between lessons, I picked up one of the kittens and walked into senior 3. I noticed Jane studying and I went over to her and dropped the kitten on her desk. She yelped and jumped out of her chair. Everyone laughed as I told Jane, “Dude, relax. I’m sorry.”

I played a similar trick on my senior 6 students. Nearly every window at the school was broken and in there place were bars. So with kitten in hand, I’d stick my arms through the bars into the face of a studying student and wait for the inevitable scream followed by the classes’ laughter. Afterward I’d always apologize and the student if they were okay. Later, I even asked in the middle of a lecture, “Why are you guys so scared of kittens?” My students were never able to provide an answer.

The class clown in senior 6 was Benjamin. He was easily, one of my favorite students, although when he spoke even his classmates had trouble understanding him due to ceaseless fits of smiles and giggles. I always looked forward to grading his assignments. He wrote a poem about me and I’ll quote three lines for you:

Oh, Mr. James

He came to Uganda

To help us backwards Africans.

Benjamin came into class late one day, dropped his notebook on a desk, and then walked out of class. So, I picked up his notebook and hid it in a corner. A few minutes later, he came back into class, looked at the vacant desk and then looked at me.

“A chicken stole your notebook,” I told him.

“What?”

“Yeah, a chicken ran into class, grabbed the notebook and ran away. Isn’t that right class?”

“Yes. Mr. James,” they said between there chuckles.

“What did the chicken look like that?”

“Err…he was white and red.”

“Where’d it go?”

“I think he ran that way.”

“Okay” and Benjamin walked in the direction I pointed.

Hasta la Vista Uganda

Tue, 20 Jun 2006 13:59:24 GMT

In three days I’ll be leaving Uganda and this morning, between the packing and the goodbyes, I compiled a list of my experiences. Some of the following I’ve already written about. Others are still waiting to be shared.

-I almost died thanks to a burly case of malaria

-God talked to me and told me to become a minister

-I became brothers with a Congolese king

-Twice, a mountain gorilla tried to attack me

-I ‘traveled’ to Kenya, or at least, my passport did

-Riots broke out just a few kilometers away from me

-I saw first hand, third world ‘democracy’ at work (“Yeah, I voted for candidate X because I didn’t want a civil war.”)

-I was interrogated by an irate Nigerian counsel officer

-I stared in a comedy produced at the Ugandan national theatre

-Thrice, thieves tried to pick my pocket

-I chased chimpanzees on the shores of a crater lake

-Everyday, gangs of black children yelled, “Muzungo” (white man) at me.

-A clan of village elders tried to get me to marry their daughters

-I taught hundreds of students how to write

-I also taught them many things which I shouldn’t repeat here

-For example, students often asked me, “Mr, James, how do I get myself a white woman?”

-This question always prompted a lesson on the law of supply and demand (“Now students, if in a certain dating market you have two white women and 100,000 black men, all of whom want to date a white woman, what do you think happens to the value of white women?...yes, that is correct, the value of white women gets grossly over inflated.”)

-I spent my Christmas and New Years sipping fermented millet from a flower pot with a clan of village elders (you know, the same ones who wanted me as their son-in-law)

-Every week, I walked 10 minutes through an African village, rode another 45 minutes in a cramped taxi, and then walked a half-hour through a dusty and polluted African capitol, just to check my email.

-I learned how to control a class of 98 students used to corporal punishment without laying a finger on them.

So, yeah, I’ve had an amazing and life-changing time the last eight months. And this list was hardly exhaustive. Hence, coming to Uganda has been, although I made the decision rather hastily, is the best I’ve ever made.

I’d like to thank you all who made this trip possible or have been here with me in spirit. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about my adventures. Yet, of course, they’re not over yet. Here’s my itinerary for the next few weeks:

June 23^rd: Leave Uganda and fly to Addis, Ethiopia

June 24^th: Fly from Addis to Lalibela, site of some of the most beautiful and ancient stone hewn churches of Christendom

June 28^th: Fly back to Addis.

June 30^th: Leave Ethiopia and fly to Lagos, Nigeria to visit my best friend

Sometime in July: Take road trip with best friend to Benin and Togo

Sometime between July 21^st and 27^th: Return to America via New York

July 27^th: Fly from New York to Oakland

July 30^th to August 5^th: Counsel at Camp CAZ

Tue, 30 May 2006 15:09:50 GMT

Regardless of the inactivity of this blog I want you to know that I am still alive and well.

Throughout April I was busy renewing my visa (which took MUCH longer than I expected. In fact the tale is worthy of its own entry which will be posted once I leave Uganda. If I post it here I risk getting kicked out of the country), applying for an internship back home (I don’t know if you’ve ever applied for a job on another continent while living in an African village but I wouldn’t suggest it), and grading final exams. On top of all this I had a relationship end due to a reoccurring case of mono (see the May 11^th entry). Hence I didn’t really have much free time in April to post any entries.

Nor have I had much time in May either. Granted my excuses for this month aren’t as glamorous. Simply I was on vacation in Western Uganda and Rwanda and was either too exhausted or gorilla treking.

June, I’m sorry to say, will also be a dismal month for this blog. After seven months in Uganda I’m burnt out. And yes, I’m writing this in light of my wonderful vacation. I don’t know if you’re aware but writing these entries hasn’t been easy. This is because each entry has involved me walking ten minutes through a muddy village, boarding a share taxi stuffed with 13 Ugandans, riding in the said taxi for 30 to 50 minutes depending on traffic, and then walking through a crowded, polluted, and sweltering African capitol to the internet café where I write and post these entries.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I’ve loved writing these entries. I’ve especially loved the added element of dodging out of the way of boda-bodas (motorcycle taxis driven by illiterate unlicensed Ugandans who all want to die) buzzing through the Kampala streets. Yet, I’m sick of risking my life.

There one more point I want to stress. My Uganda experience has changed. Last week, Wim, a large bearded Dutch guy who you could mistake for Santa Claus became my neighbor. Wim is a volunteer teacher like myself and having him around, has, well, changed things.

For the last seven months I’ve been the only white guy at my school and now suddenly there’s another a white guy. Needless to say having another white guy around alters the experience of teaching in an African school. It’s hard to describe since it’s almost impossible to capture the surreal sensations of being completely surrounded by another culture but to put it simply…actually there’s no way I can put it simply. You have to live in another culture to grasp the intense visceral sensations of pure interculture encounters.

Actually let me try to put it simply. Teaching at Kikaaya, with a bearded white guy around is no longer a “pure” interculture encounter. Either that or I’ve become so used to Ugandan culture that the strangeness of it no longer seems strange. Or maybe it’s…err…I don’t know. I’m feeling confused right now.

Also, it’s confirmed. Last Thursday I bought my ticket out of Uganda. On June 23^rd I’ll be flying to Addis Ababa to spend a week in Ethiopia before flying off to Nigeria to visit my best friend. Before the purchase, the idea that I’d one day be leaving Uganda didn’t seem real. Yet, now with the ticket in my hand, there’s no denying it. I have a life in the states and I’ll be returning to it.

Amoebic Dysentery

Sat, 01 Apr 2006 12:04:00 GMT

Dear Friends, Loved Ones, and Loyal Readers

Have you ever played the game Oregon Trial? The premise is simple. You’re a settler moving out west in a wagon train and you’ve got to survive cattle rustlers, the freezing Sierra Nevadas, and bear attacks. You also have to be ever weary of diseases such as malaria, typhoid, and amoebic dysentery.

Well guess what!? I can now claim to have been afflicted with TWO Oregon Trail diseases! This is because last week I came down with a burly case of amoebic dysentery. Yup, I spent four days couch bound (and more often than not, toilet bound) at a friend’s house. Yeah, it was great! Who could have thought that 96 hours of loose stool with a constant headache and fatigue could be such a barrel of monkeys? And all in the week before my birthday!

Again, like my malaria last November, I have no clue how I got the amoeba. I’ve been taking all the proper precautions. As in I always drink mineral or boiled tap water. But, somewhere along the line I must have imbued some bad water. Either that or God likes cursing me with serious diseases.

Although I shouldn’t really be complaining—in fact, I ought to be thankful. Since at least this time no riots broke out during my latest bout. So please send your condolences along with your happy birthday email and notes.

I love you all.

-James

P.S. For those of you who don’t remember, my birthday is April 2^nd.