The first part of January, I found myself in western Uganda, in the town of busy little town of Hoima for Living with Shalom (LwS)—a training sponsored by MCC and its varoius partners throughout the country. The training focused on “shalom”—living with holistic peace with yourself, your God, others, the nation and the environment. The classroom sessions were interesting and informative as we discussed topics such as: HIV/AIDS prevention, peer relationships, counseling, non-violent conflict resolution, problem solving, and environmental protection issues. The best part of LwS, however, was the relationship formation that took place between the youth. LwS brought together youth from the various corners (and tribes and languages) of Uganda who had just finished their secondary education (S-6) and were enjoying the start of their extended holiday vacation. The participants were able to interact with each other as peers— their equal, people who were the same. Each youth was awaiting their final exam marks, dreaming of the future ahead; all hoping to attend college in the fall. I enjoyed the tea breaks and the late afternoons of playing football the most. It was in these moments that friendships were formed and stereotypes broken down. No longer was it Buganda and Ateso each sitting isolated and alone or Acholi and Busoga competing in cards, or the Runyoro or Karamojong dancing their own cultural dances; instead as the days and weeks went on, the groups boundaries blurred between the groups—from six they became one. It was in these informal times where the extension of friendship served as a bridge for peace and acceptance amongst youth of a nation that were taught to judge and divide based upon their differences… I’m hopeful for the future of Uganda.
The part of training that most impacte me, however, occurred after a day of discussing conflict, violence and nonviolence, we watched the film, “Hotel Rwanda”. Now, I’ve seen this film before but never in this context. As I looked around me, on my left was an Acholi (northern Uganda, LRA conflict) and on my right a Karamong (northeastern Uganda, where cattle raids are common). Many of the youth sitting around me call home to places of past and present violence, conflict and instability. Life and death are only separated (at times) by very thin lines. As I watched a film about the Rwandan genocide with people only a few years younger than myself, it struck me that this was, for many of them, either a personal relatity or threatening possiblity of events. It was entertainment, it was real life. Seeing their eyes close and hearing them gasp at the scenes of violence sent a shivering sensation through my spine. For me, this movie was about history; for others, it was their story.
There was one scene in particular that I’ll never forget—if you’ve seen the film, it was the one where the reporter from the UK told Paul (the hotel manager) that even if the footage of the genocide made the evening news in his country that people might look up from their dinners, say ‘oh what a terrible shame’ and then shift their attention right back to their evening meal. It was here and now that I felt my heart sink in my chest and my stomach knot in disguist. I’m not sure if I imagined it or not, but it felt like every eye in the entire room was burning a hole in my back. I felt my face redden and flush with shame. Never was I so embarrassed to be an American, never was I so ashamed for my nationality. The West’s ambivalence to the Rwandan genocide in the 1990s and to many other African conflicts for that matter, was humiliating. I felt personally guilty for my country’s silence and disregard for human life.
Yet, the most disguisting thing of all was thre realization that I have often done exactly what that reporter told Paul the West would do. On the evening news, I’ve watched and been bombarded with images of war and violence, injustice and poverty, disease and death. I’ve seen so much over the years that I’ve become immune to the images—my hardened heart rarely softens anymore to these scenes. I was overwhelmed by the magnitude of world problems that I found it much more comfort to ignore them. In fact, I’d become quite skillful at quickly grabbing the clicker off the coffee table and switching the channel to avoid these moments that disturbed my soul.
After living here six months now, I can’t do that any longer—I can’t change the channel, I can’t turn off the television, I can’t just go back to eating my dinner. I am here, this has become my life, I can’t look away any longer, I must see with my own eyes and look into the eyes of others and see the violence, oppression, injustice and poverty that is all around us— every day. There are nights when I’m too restless to fall asleep when I ask myself what I’m doing here—who am I to be involved in issues that are so far beyond and bigger than myself. I’m just 23. I’m unbearably inconsistent—I’m young and selfish —naïve as well as cynical —idealistic yet skeptical. I am easily overwhelmed by the enormity of all that I see, I feel small and insignificant. And yet, I’m here. Somehow, someway, God has led me to this place of immense pleasure and intense pain. I’m here in Uganda, in Kamuli, giving it my best shot to look closer at the world around me and be engaged in what I see. I’ll be the first to admit this isn’t easy—it hurts sometimes—it’s uncomfortable much of the time—but it’s worth it, it’s what life is about here all the time. It’s becoming my life– I can no longer hide behind a comfortable veil of ignorance. Embracing and engaging seem to be the only options that remain.
Lately, this is where I’ve find myself… embracing, engaging and feeling ashamed. This shame, though, is only temporary. Living with shalom is living at peace in the midst and in spite whatever external life circumstance life brings your way. Shalom is more a state of mind and heart and soul at rest than a state of conflict free existence. It’s living with a quiet confidence that violence is not the answer that love is always a better choice (albeit a much harder one!) Even though I feel the weight of my materialist-consumerist American culture, I have a God who has the habit of turning ashes into beauty. He takes the shame, the guilt, and transforms them into something that’s of worth—fervor for hope. Jesus has taken my guilt from the past and use it for a redemptive future. Jesus brought shalom in the midst of my shame.
