dusting off the old blog

“If you are free, you need to free somebody else” – Toni Morrison

The Minnesota sky is silver-streaked tonight. The air is warm. Lawn mowers hum in a chorus. I see our neighbor dog bounding around, his tawny tail slap slap slapping. He is giddy that spring is here. So am I.

Since my last blog entry, so much has happened. I have come home to the States. I have been accepted to writing school, and decided not to go. I haven’t known what to do, really, except to try learn to be nobody, and to listen and to pray. I have worked at a government job downtown. In the office, everyone accuses one another of stealing food from the office fridge. “Did you eat my banana?” “No.” “Are you sure?” “Positive.”

I have yearned to feel like I am doing something important again, to march into a dowdy newspaper office with a press release in hand, to sit down with an exuberant client, to pray fervently with the IJM office staff again – to pray with others for justice.

Somewhat selfishly, when people say, “so what do you do?” I want to have something cool to say. I want to say, “As a matter of fact, I work to raise money for widows and orphans.” Or, “I’m glad you asked. I work and pray to set people free from oppression.”

But beyond wanting to feel like my life counts, I have thought of Judith, and Kate, and taken this year to pray about how to really, really love people. When you are in East Africa, you see a lot of Westerners striving to make a difference without really listening. I want to listen and learn and reengage deliberately.

At night, I sleep next to a bowl of hydrangeas in an eerily quiet suburb. I dream of the African rainstorms. My mind replays the widows’ stories I found waiting for me when I careened into the rural villages. I remember, in particular, three old wizened sisters, rising up out of the forest to greet me in their traditional dress. I remember them as princesses or queens in exile. I could never quite believe someone would dare threaten them.

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“Tanzania! Well well well.”

The doctor’s receptionist had a miniature face and an azure ring that matched her eyes that matched her shirt. She wore a lot of eyeliner. I read her name tag. Why hello there, Judy. She reminded me a bit of a panda, not just in the eyeliner, but how she chewed her nails, hungrily, frantically, and with wide eyes.

“Why would you want to go there?” She asked, smiling. So friendly. “I don’t even know where that is!”

“It’s in East Africa.” I said, trying to keep the contempt out of my voice – trying to remember that, two years ago, I might not have known where in Africa it was either.

She handed me a pen with a huge plastic flower taped to it. “We have enough problems here in the States. Look at the tornadoes.”

“Yes, it’s terrible,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“Awful,” she agreed. “Yes. Well, you’re ten minutes late. We’ll have to reschedule your appointment.”

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People, I am going back to East Africa. I’ll visit Uganda for two days, then I’ll fly to Arusha, Tanzania to serve as a teaching artist with International Theater and Literacy Project for three weeks. This weekend, on my birthday, I fly to New York for training.

I am so grateful for this opportunity. First, I long to find myself back in East Africa. Second, I am so excited to help young people write and imagine. Imagining sets people free, and in that, it is linked to justice. Let me explain. In interviewing brave widows and orphans, I noticed that, even when hemmed in by poverty, they were able to imagine a better reality in which their perpetrators were brought to justice. Their ability to see beyond present circumstances made them strong, determined, and willing to fight for something better. “Without vision, the people perish.”

I am thrilled to work for an organization that presses into the link between imagination and justice. ITLP “brings theatre artists from the United States to developing countries to conduct community-based playwriting and theatre workshops for secondary school students and teachers, nurturing their creative voices to enable them to express their ideas and stories.” You can check out their website here: www.itlp.org and see videos of past projects!
. And read Rebecca’s fantastic story here: http://www.gravelandstardust.blogspot.com/

I’d add that, practically speaking, English is the language of commerce in Tanzania, and key to getting a good job.

ITLP is covering all my most costs, but has asked that we fundraise and let our friends know about the organization. As you may know, I raised money to go to Uganda. I dreaded that, but the notes, emails, and messages of support floored me. Since then, I’ve daily considered all the people who prayed for me, supported me, and wrote me while I was in Uganda. I have felt overwhelmed, at times, by that cloud of support. I will forever look back on that and say, Woah. That outpouring really happened. Still, now I feel a bit embarrassed to ask people to give again.

But I do really believe in this mission and in the abilities of the artists with whom I am travelling – they are amazing Wheaton women! If I am to encourage boldness in others, I must cultivate it in myself. If you want to make a donation in my name to help cover our workshops this summer, please let me know and I will send you more info! There are many ways to give.

Also, let me know if you would like to receive blog or email updates. I want to share what I learn in East Africa, if you want to hear it. I hope you will consider coming along with me on my journey.  I am so very thankful for you.

“I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary but slinks out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat.” – John Milton

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