Came back today from North Eastern Uganda, Kidepo. Way too tired to talk
about it but it was beautiful. I learned a ton about animals. I spent
time with the technical advisor to the Ugandan Wildlife Authority (Richard),
the Curator of a Zoo in Holland (Marijo), a wild life senses guy and
director of some conservation thing the Holland guys are looking at, and the
Manager of the Holland Zoo. I was within 4 yards of a male elephant who
hangs out in the ranger village I stayed in, heard lions roaring at night
near by (but never saw them), came close to 80 elephants with babies, saw
about 500 water buffalo, and several small heards of zebras with a few babies
among them as well. The land scape was glorious, I could see the milky way,
I got sunburnt, and rode in the back of a pickup. In flight I saw several
villages some no longer inhabited because of the fighting, a refugee
camp/town, a rebel controlled city, trees blasted from the battle 5 weeks ago
in the park where 60 people died (a Ugandan tribe attacked a Sudanees tribe,
both catttle herders, trying to steal cows. They do this thing all the time
but not often inside the park. The Sudanees have been grazing near to 1000
cattle in the park because their pasture lands are all used up.)

Evening prayer on the Sabbath - Sunset in the National Park, 360 degree view
of grass lands sparcely covered in trees with purple mountians off in the
distance. Huge white clouds and the stillness that comes with no cars, no
phones, no electricity. An elephant slowly munching near by and the quite
call of village voices and laughter of children. All this I saw and desired
to worship Him for, yet my soul refused to fly on this beauty as if it were
senseless.

What could it have been?

(from a letter to Stephen)
I got to talk about us today. I hung with a few teachers and Word of Life
staff after school. They taught me to make chapati. The story felt rusty.
I wished that you were their to tell it. It feel like I was missing the
details. They are there for me but I don't have the words to describe them
all. It was great just having someone who wanted to listen about you. One
of the girls likes poetry so we are talking about arranging a poetry evening
this next week. The others like novels so we talked about books and food
and men. Pritty basic for a gathering of girls. I had a blast just
laughing. While I like principles I don't like feeling trapped by them.
Some times when I am with the missionarys I feel like I am on the verge of
messing with one of their principles. It puts me on edge. But with these
women (Kenyan and they're all around my age or a bit older) we laughed and I
teased and we relaxed.

Africa with firends... its a shame I'm leaving. Things could really be
great here in another month. By then, I could have friends. If I do this
again, without you, I want to live with a group of girls instead of with a
family. You get to know people a lot faster when you live with them.
Living with singles alows for a lot more crazy fun.

So, dearest friend, I wonder how all the feelings of these past months would
change if you had been with me. I think I could have felt really at home,
rather quickly. But its good to know that friends are out there even across
these culture lines. I really enjoy all this. Every bit of the differences
here hold some delight, even the annoying ones.

Dancing (without music so I don't scandalize to many :) hee hee hee

Africa with friends could easily become home.

Homeward Bound - where ever that is.

I am still in the post college uprooted position and it appears I will be for at least another year. While my permanent address is still Scottsdale AZ, it's only home because my folks are there. Besides them there is no one left in the Phoenix area that I relate to. But despite my lack of attachment to the city, I will be there this summer because of my attachment to my family. Admittedly, there isn't much prospect for philosophical conversation, not that I have really had much in Africa either, but the enjoyment of getting to know my almost grown up brother Ben and talking to Jameson, the baby who didn't have coherent thoughts when I left five years ago, and getting a chance to lend support to my parents, makes going home a good idea.


I am actually headed that way much sooner then I originally imagined. I am ending my time in Uganda on May 5th, flying to England and arriving in the USA on the 6th. I had originally intended to stay here until mid-summer but because I need to get a summer job that pays (so I don't turn into a waif while in England) and because my mom has been stressed lately with full time school, work, and the trials of my younger brothers, I am leaving Uganda as soon as the school term ends.

I plan to make a stop over in Michigan for a few days on my way south. I am looking into possible rides from Hillsdale to Arizona post graduation. Coming in on the 6th should put me in Hillsdale in time for the graduation celebrations which I plan to crash. If any of the alumni were thinking about revisiting old haunts, I would love to see you.

Third Worlds - The Absurd

Man... I am going to miss Africa! I just started feeling like I had figured things out. I recognize where I am in Kampala, at least three fourths of the time. I know what's acceptable socially in basic situations. Most of what I see just seems normal now.

I am trying to take pictures but they will never capture the sweet garbage stench, the noisy press of taxis, the dust, the black choking exhaust, the puddles, the surge of the crowds: women treading through mud in high heals, and all the men dressed "properly" in slacks and long collard shirts (everyone of them, from the beggars with missing extremities to the paunchy businessmen). Uganda is a country of inconsistent absurdities.

A Fools Home

Friends meeting in Hillsdale on April Fools. My heart aches to be there among people I love and who love me. No uncertainty. Just chilling, making fools of ourselves. It is sad not to have a home.

Martyrs of Uganda?

A husband and wife, AIM missionaries, killed two weeks ago. A small group attacked and killed them in their agricultural school. Shot to death, I think. All the buildings burnt down.

On Tuesday, March 30, an Italian Priest was stabbed to death in his mission station.


For what reason?

Death Part III

Intimidated by a cow and its cohorts while in search of groceries.

Death by goring… humm.

Books

On those chilly evenings my legs would be tucked into my over sized tee shirts. I would snuggle closer to Papa while my feet searched out a crevice of warmth near his leg. I could stare into the wood stove and let my life go. The daily world faded and Papa's voice was my magic carpet to worlds of passion, hardship, and strength. He would read on and on. I loved it.

Eighteen eyes and ears all bent towards me, contented faces some tucked into their arms, others resting near their desks. The students watch me and listen. I never hold their attention so well as when I read to them. Sure they can read on their own, but the power of these voiced stories bewitches them. And I am happy to give them a glimpse of my own childhood.

If my kids possess a passion for stories when I leave, I will have succeeded. If they would rather hear a story than watch cartoons I will have given them the gift that can explode their world.

Not in Kampala

I went through the wardrobe tonight. A red rock slab, cascading fountains, over arching branches, incense warding off mosquitoes, Italian arias, a ghostly moon, and real cappuccino. I was transported. The exotic blossoms, fuchsia and white with leaves which stretched out to shake my hand. I found inspiration, I saw it turn and look at me, wondering where I had been. I wondered to, how we had become such strangers. I reached for it and found… I found this: this stunted and frustrated prose aching to say something worthwhile.

What is left of my vocabulary is languishing. Try spending the better part of each day trying to explain the fullness of life to eight year olds. These days I search desperately for simple words.

As soon as I sit to write, the words won't come. Nothing. It's as if the dust and smog have clogged the neurons in my brain. No thought. I read what my friends express and I greave that my daily life has lost them. They have been my inspiration. When the mundane threatened, we could fend it off together. Now I spend my days with `nice' people. But where is the depth where is the beauty?

Tidbits

"A purely pure prayer would not be a prayer but union and it would have
nothing to supplicate, no promise of presence to fulfill... it would replace
prayer with presence, for after the prayer for presence is answered, as St.
Thomas saw, there would be nothing left but to die."

Nahmanides says somewhere that one "repents of the sins of which he is aware
and atones for the sins of which he is not aware." The sacrifice covers
hidden faults. A general confession is possible.

I have become old and stodgy. I am too tired to move by ten. My body wakes me like clockwork at 7:30. Everything feels stiff and swollen in the morning, especially my neck. And I read
theology in bed.

“meat, meat for sale!”


I haven't been to the butcher that Inell buys from so I don't know about our meat but the stuff on the street?! Not refrigerated, covered in flies, rotting on the hooks, I don't think you could cook that stuff long enough to be safe. I still stand by my enjoyment of rare beaf but I am willing to give up some of my finer tastes in cuisine if duty requires it.


I can't bring myself to eat eggs any more. Now the idea of a fried egg in the morning just turns my stomach. The eggs are strange looking. They are all fertilized, so there is a spot of blood in each and there is always the slim chance that when I open the egg I will find a half formed chick. That prospect makes me less eager for breakfast. The yokes also look funny; probably because of the food the chickens eat or don't eat. The yokes are a light pale yellow, almost albino. I expect Africa will have changed my eating habits quite a lot by the time I get back.

The Old Paths
The reading appointed for today: Jer. 6: 9-21
“To whom shall I speak and give warning, That they may hear? Indeed their ear is uncircumcised, And they cannot give heed. Behold, the word of the Lord is a reproach to them…. Thus says the Lord: Stand in the ways and see, And ask for the old paths, where the good way is, And walk in it; Then you will find rest for your souls.”

Lord where is the good way? Teach me Your paths. Because of your
grace give me an undivided heart that I might fear your Name.

"The evanescence of human life is the reason for human ceremony. Since things pass, things must be repeated. Only the eternal can dispense with repetition. The ideal of epiphany, the thirst for what Americans call "peak experiences": all this is a little cowardly, an attempt to escape the consequences of living in time. Of course, the epiphany may arrive; but after the epiphany, there will arrive the moment after the epiphany. The peak experience will peak. And there will occur, the experience of eschatological disappointment."
I wonder if Paul experienced this disappointment. What was life like right after the vision on the road to Damascus? Did he expect the establishment of the Kingdom on earth in his life time like some of the others? Was this experience formative for his willingness to die for the sake of the gosple? "...better to be with the Lord..." Maybe St. Thomas was lucky to have died so soon after his vision. How did Paul manage to keep from loosing the fervor of his experience?



"The heavy summer air was filled with fireflies, hundreds of them, burning
and vanishing, burning and vanishing. The park was a field of floating,
passing intensities. I sat for a while and watched the little eruptions of
brilliance. Wherever I looked, there was the beginning and the ending of
light. No light lasted long, but there was not a moment of total darkness.
This, I thought, is another ideal of illumination."

"The glow passes. But the afterglow need not pass. The problem is that its
survival is in our hands. Unlike the glow, the afterglow is not an
experience; and we prefer an experience."



"Epiphany is one way of attacking our temporality. Ritual is another.
Epiphany is more vulnerable to time's counter-attack than ritual. But who
would not exchange ritual for epiphany? Or so I used to think."



Is it better to exist after the revelation of the eternal? That way we can know that what we seek is already revealed. Or is it better to long for the infinite to burst through? What happens if the infinite comes and the world goes on in time? (Mount Sinai, Jesus)


We have to make ritual, we have to appeal to tradition. But when tradition makes the claim that it proceeds from the source without any shadowing of the original, one can either accept the account with something like faith, or one can say, as I am want, "that is outrageous."




But if you practice Nietzschian rigor how can you ever learn the "old paths"? Don't you have to have a measure of faith in the ridiculous?

Okay... enough of all this for the day. I am going to watch a movie, make cookies (as long as the power stays on) and eat lots of them. These are times when the body is a welcome relief to the mind.

Bug Stories


I am learning to get good at smacking ants out of the way. They are pretty amazing buggers - you can fling them against a wall and a few minutes later they are back annoying you. I still haven't managed to start squishing things with my bare hands or feet. I could never compete with the abilities of the village women. I am sure the art of killing bugs without the use of toilet paper
is one of their many achievements.



I sprayed some Raid on a strange bug and it started to pop up into the air every few seconds, I think it might be trying to turn itself over. Who wants to die with their legs in the air?


When I first got here I just didn't like killing bugs, and I still don't. But I have steeled myself against such a silly emotion. Besides, there are plenty and I am sure when they manage to invade the house in any large quantity, their squirming deaths won't bother me as much. Just wondering what the Buddhists would say about my feeling and resolve to kill them anyway.

I don't understand why whenever I get left alone in a house something goes wrong with the animals. This time it's the bugs. There were not this many bugs in this house when everyone else was around. The two inch roaches have assaulted the boundaries of my home. I find them in my bathroom and kitchen cupboards most often. The best was a roach being devoured by hundreds of ants in my kitchen - while I applauded the ants I stilled killed them all with Raid. I almost stepped on a millipede, at least I think it was one. Long and brown with a hard-ish top, sort of like a potato bug but longer than my middle finger.




When my parents use to leave me in charge for a week it was inevitable that the dog would throw up on the carpet.

The atheist and the theist have much in common. Both look to God's
presence. What divides them is their faith. One has the faith that God is
there, the other the faith that He is not. What becomes of the ones who
because of honesty, never abandon either possibility?

Death Part I


The stench of death


sweet like dung


the ridged and bloated belly
open to the sun.


The dog's eyes mercifully sheltered from the sight of its own destruction
by the burlap bag. The flies leave their offspring to consume his belly.

Life... Destruction... Life...


What will live in me when I have lost myself, when I have no more
use for me, when I am gone?



Death Part II


Did you hear the news about Abidjan today? Riots and the new reconciliation government falling apart, three parties pulled out today. They are calling the president a dictator. Surprise, that's a common inflammatory name. Of course I don't know anything about the history, so I can't evaluate the situation, but people are dieing. Two men killed for trying to disarm police. Why would they do that? The news doesn't say. And there are many more. Why do we care so much about death? It happens all around us, people dieing, most of the time for no reason at all. But we don't get use to it.


Then again, maybe we do.


We make lists of numbers and never learn their names.

Excluded Again

The Rabbis suck on women's issues just as badly as the church fathers. But since I am not Roman Catholic the only one's who are really authoritative are the Apostles, so I have a lot fewer
misogynists to deal with.

Why have women been excluded from performing the duties of worship? This exclusion is less within the church then in Judaism, thanks to Paul. “…there is no male or female, but all are one in Christ.” Why did God give almost all the duties of worship to the men in His covenant? It leaves me free to give worship out of desire but it also means my worship doesn't really count. Since my worship is not required, what's the difference?
It is a Talmudic dictum that "someone who is not required to perform a certain obligation cannot perform this obligation for someone else.”



Why I have wanted to marry clergy: Because then at least I can be the help
mate of one who is allowed to fulfill the duties that I am denied.

I think reading Kaddish is the closest I have ever come to studying Talmud on
the Sabbath. "Holy, holy, holy..." "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord." This
worship floats by my veranda. The Pentecostals are calling from the dusty streets below seeking, seeking what?
... a presence, a feeling, a response, a listener.



Penitence and Love


"The pietists of Ashkenaz had a mania for penitence."


"Pietism is a form of elitism. And humility is snobbery's most devious
disguise."
Pietism is quick to loose love and mercy.





This is the question: What is my duty to God and Man?


"You can squander a lot of your soul not doing your duty." - 'Kaddish'