The Fourth: It's Time We Remembered

It’s time we remembered.

Across the nations today people gather to celebrate. Hot dogs, hamburgers, chips and salsa. Parades, fireworks, dances. Maybe some speeches, but not too many. We wouldn’t want to get in the way of the celebrations. What exactly are we celebrating? It’s America’s birthday! Independence! Today’s the day our Founders signed the Declaration of Independence. Or voted on it. Or something like that. I forget, hand me another beer. WAHOO!!!

Today Americans party. Two hundred and thirty-two years ago, we couldn’t afford to take the time of work. Americans were locked in a titanic struggle against the superpower of the 18th century world. Less than two months after the Declaration of Independence was accepted by the Continental Congress, Washington was driven from New York with devastating losses by British General Howe. The ragtag American army was beaten again and again across New Jersey, before taking refuge across the Delaware River as the winter snows began to fall. “These are the times that try men’s souls,” wrote Thomas Paine, and indeed they were; 1776, the year of America’s birth, held some of the darkest days of the revolution. Today, we celebrate, because then, they sacrificed.

It’s time we remembered. Remembered what today is really about. It isn’t about parties or barbeques or parades, although I enjoy those things as much as anyone. It isn’t about speeches or rallies or protests. It isn’t about Republicans or Democrats. It isn’t even about freedom, really, at least not completely. It’s about sacrifice. Two hundred and thirty-two years ago our forefathers pledge to each other and to us, their lives, fortunes and sacred honor to maintain an idea. The idea that men could-and should-direct their own lives, free of unwarranted intrusion from anyone. Many did lose their fortunes, some their lives. They pledged to sacrifice their all and they did, to a degree that most modern Americans cannot begin to comprehend. It’s time we remembered what it means to sacrifice.

Today many of us are upset with the way things are going in our nation. We wish Congress would stop spending money; we wish the President wouldn’t kill flies on television (after all, that’s the worst thing he’s done, right?); we wish the Supreme Court would stop making things up from penumbras. Most of us don’t do anything about it though. Our excuse? We’re too busy. Well, with the average American watching something like 30 hours of television a week, I find that a lame excuse. If we can’t sacrifice a couple TV shows to find a way to make our voices heard in Washington, we deserve everything we get. Stand up and be counted. Scream. Call, write and email your reps in DC until they know your name and are afraid of it. Talk to your neighbors, organize. Chances are they feel the same way. Do something. If you think about it long enough, you’ll figure something out. After all, that’s what freedom really is, the right to solve your own problems.

This Fourth of July, let us take a moment and remember. Remember the cost of what we have. We are so blessed as a nation; we have no idea the way the rest of the world today and throughout history have lived. Remember the responsibility we have to maintain it for our children. Remember that, cliché as it may sound, freedom really isn’t free and, like it or not, we are the ones who have to pay that price. If we’re unwilling to, we are unworthy of our freedom.

I'M BACK!!!

It's been almost a year since I last wrote. The original purpose of this blog was to describe adventures in Africa. Since I've been back, I've had adventures, but they've been less African. As the world around us attempts to shake itself to pieces, I thought that somebody out there might be interested in what I'm doing with my life. Might inspire you to do something with yours, other than read my blog. So welcome, my non-existent reader.

Almost three weeks ago I met Glenn Beck. The featured speaker at my university's annual fundraising gala (George Wythe Universtiy, for those of you who don't know), he got stuck at a table with 8 students. We loved it. More importantly though, he loved it. He said in his speech, "I had dinner with Michael Steele, Newt Gingrich and other high ups that don't want to be seen with me last week in DC, and I just had a better conversation tonight with these students." We hemmed and hawed in our seats, and ate it up. I'd known I'd be sitting at his table for about a month before it happened, and going there, I had 3 things on my agenda: 1. Let him see what the school was all about, and have him buy into it enough that he'd promote it. He did. 2. Have him invite us to breakfast the next morning. He did. 3. Get an internship. During breakfast I asked. His response? "I need people like you doing research for me. You guys get it. A lot of people out there don't get it." His assistant gave us his business card and told us to e-mail him in the next couple of weeks; we'd see if we could get things worked out. I just heard back from them today. Nothing's set in stone yet-I haven't even officially applied-but I'm really hoping that sometime soon, within the next six months or so, I'll be writing these entries from New York. If you believe in God, I'd appreciate the prayers. If you believe in quantum, any positive vibrations you could send my way would be appreciated as well ;-)

All in all, it was an amazing experience. America is changing; across the nation people are feeling it; the question we have to ask ourselves is is it changing for the better? And what are we doing to ensure that it does? The momentum for freedom is building; if we all start pushing, who knows where we'll end up. For a person who keeps his head on straight, a crisis is a huge opportunity for influence. Use it. It's here anyway. Keep reading; I'll let you know how it goes on my end.

Life post-africa

I’ve been home for a little less than two weeks now. Life’s in full swing, as I’m writing this I’m lounging on the couch at George Wythe College, slightly pooped from a full day (full week, actually) of teaching Hebrew. I’d like to go to bed, but as the new security guard here at the school, I’m required to stay till the school closes and locks up. Fun job, makes me feel powerful. And bored.

Let me tell you a story. It’s the kind of story you’d find in Chicken Soup for the Soul, except this one is real. I met a man in Africa named Timothy. Mid twenties, single, college graduate in computer science. One of the most amazing men I have ever met in my life. Just a couple of years older than me and yet he has something I don’t plan on having for a while. Kids. 328 of them. Ever since he was a kid, Timothy wanted to be a teacher. After graduating college in computer science he worked at it for a month, then quit. It wasn’t what he wanted to do. He started teaching-for free, since he didn’t have a teaching certificate-at a small village school, just a little at first, then slowly more and more. Eventually he branched out and started his own school, not liking the way students were treated at the school he had been teaching at. He wanted to open a school for orphans and impoverished children, taking no account of the fact that he himself was not exactly in the black. He found a partner, found a place, and started driving around in a van, picking kids up off the street and taking them to his school, Cranes Junior School in Mukono. He currently has 700 students, 328 of them orphans-for whom he is entirely responsible-and the rest coming from very poor families, not much better off than the orphans. The funding for the school (as well as the food, clothing, etc.) for the orphans comes from the school fees paid by the families of the other children, when they can afford it. Often they can’t. At the time I’m writing this, Timothy’s orphans are subsiding on only one meal a day, because the money simply isn’t there. Some days they just have to go without, because there is nothing for them. The thought of going without is mind boggling to us as Americans; because of the abundance around us it’s not something we’ve ever had to do. Yet it’s so common for these kids that it doesn’t even seem abnormal to them; it’s a part of their lives.

After I got back, a friend of mine (Elise Fisher, who also spent the summer in Uganda) talked with me about how we could raise money to help. Mother Teresa once said, “If you can’t feed 100 people, just feed one,” and we decided we would do what we could to feed as many as we can. Our goal is, eventually, to help Timothy get his school to be self-sufficient. Just like with our teaching, we want them to be able to keep going without the Mzungus. But that’s long

term. Short term-right now-they need money for food. I think you know where this is going. James 1:27 says, “Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction.” There are no widows at Cranes, but there are fatherless-and motherless-who are suffering in affliction. I ask three things. First, that you pray for Timothy and his kids, as well as for Elise and I that we’ll be able to help them in some way. Second, that you consider what you could do to help. $25 a month will feed 5 orphans for a whole month. But more than just feed; Timothy’s goal is to educate these kids, to give them a chance at life. Without him, without his school, these kids are back on the street. Is there something you could sacrifice-maybe a couple nights eating out-to make the difference in these kids’ lives? I don’t know your situation; you do. I don’t want to guilt you into doing this; I’d rather you do it because you are inspired to. If you can’t, you can’t, and I understand; I just ask that you consider it. Check out our website for more information, http://www.timothysorphans.org/ and http://timothysorphans.org/compassion/. Third, I ask that you’d share this with your friends, associates, family, heck, even the paper boy. Any one. If you have any questions, call (307-272-8118) or email me (chocolateflipper@yahoo.com). The world has a lot of problems, but one of the things I learned this summer is that you do what you can, where you can to make it a better place. If this is one of your ways to change the world, I’d like to invite you to join with me in doing some good. Slowly by slowly, to quote Ssembuze, change can, and will, happen.

Leave it to the Ugandans

Saturday was my last official program as an LEU member. We had a mass teacher training in the next big city over, Jinja, sponsored by a member of parliament, Honorable Fred. There were just the four of us, Erin, Elise, Rachel and I; everyone else had already gone home. Since we were a little short on people, we decided to ask some of our students to help out, three of Rachel’s and my Giants class, one of Elise’s students and one of Erin’s. The training went awesome, with about 120 teachers attending. We divided into two groups with Rachel and I taking half in one room with Ssembuze and Robert. I did one half hour lecture, and then Ssembuze and Robert handled the rest. I didn’t even need to be there. The coolest part of the whole day came when we ran out of chalk and I had to run to the other classroom to grab some more. I left Ssembuze teaching in our room and when I got to the other classroom, Fahadie, one of our other students, was teaching there. Elise and Erin weren’t needed; Rachel and I weren’t needed. The Ugandans had it handled; the Mzungus can leave now.

Freedom

A lot has happened. The day after my last blog, Rachel and I went to observe some of our teachers’ classes, just to see how they were applying the things we were teaching. One of the classes was actually a deaf school, being taught by a stern, almost grouchy old man named Mohammed. At one point during the lesson, a lady came in and announced, “I need your two smartest students.” Mohammed looked up from where he was helping a student and said, “They are all smart,” and went back to his student. The lady laughed and said, “Yes but I need your two smartest, one boy and one girl.” Mohammed, not even looking up, said, “They are all smart.” She left.

We finished up our Giants class about a week ago, which was said and inspiring at the same time. Ssembuze’s (that’s how you spell his name I found out) oral was awesome. When I asked him what he was going to do when we left, he said he was going to enlighten others. “You know, it’s not easy to help others to come out of the cave (he’d read Plato’s Allegory of the Cave a couple days before), but I have to do it. And I can do it.”

The next day we went to one of our Bweyo classes, which ended up being canceled. Flexibility is one of the most important virtues to have in Africa; life becomes so much less frustrating. So instead of teaching, we played football (soccer) with the students there. It was Rachel with about twenty girls against me with eight guys. My team one, mainly because the girls couldn’t decide if they were going to play football, or stand around and giggle. Some of our students were watching us, and in the back of my head it occurred to me that maybe what we were doing didn’t mesh with their idea of a teacher’s dignity. But then the ball flew towards my goal, and I was occupied with more important matters. On the way back to Mukono something slightly funny and slightly creepy occurred. But it requires a little background information. In the culture here, it is totally normal for guys who are good friends to hold hands. Totally fine, they don’t even think about it. So it’s something I’ve had to get use to, and I actually had gotten good at swallowing my initial repulsion and accepting that they weren’t saying what was coming across to me. I’ve actually gotten so used to it, that I’m a little worried about my image when I get back home. But to return to my story, one of the taxi station guys comes up and shakes my hand. And then holds my hand. And then strokes my hand. Yes, strokes. Uncomfortable, and funny at the same time, cause he was oblivious to what was going on, whereas I, with my American preconceptions about what it means when you stroke someone’s hand, was longing to put my hand in my pocket. About thirty seconds later when I had to play Rachel’s boyfriend, I wasn’t sure if it was for her protection, or mine.

Last Saturday we had a graduation for our students. It was a great day. Baker from one of my Bweyo classes promised to “keep the candle burning,” which I have no doubt that he will. It was so neat to see, not only my students, but also all of the students together, fifty or sixty people that are dedicated to making Uganda better through teaching. The best part of the whole day came when I walked Ssembuze and Robert and several other students to the library we’ve set up. It was the first time for both of them to be there. As they looked through the books, Ssembuze found something that caught his interest. They’ve been studying The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and both them absolutely have loved it. I was standing just outside the door when I heard Ssembuze’s voice, “Eeh!!” I looked in and saw him running/dancing/hopping over to where Robert stood. “Robert!” he called excitedly, presenting the book he’d found, “Look, the 8^th Habits!” Yes, Ssembuze, it hasn’t ended. It doesn’t ever end.

I come home in a week. Standing high on the hill of retrospection, I ask myself what it is that I’ve done with my time here. I came here with only a vague idea of what I was getting myself into; I was going to be teaching leadership education. And I have; I’ve taught it till I was blue in the face, and then came back the next day to do it again. I’ve had some good classes, and some bad classes and some classes that have changed my life. Yesterday as I was sitting in the class that Robert and Ssembuze have been teaching together, my mind wandered and began to coalesce everything I’ve taught this summer, all the knowledge I’ve shared, all truth I’ve imparted into its basic, fundamental essence, such that if I was asked what I’d been doing all summer, what was important enough to sacrifice this fall’s lunch money, I'd be able to give an intelligent answer. I asked myself if I’d done any good. And looking into the eyes of one of the teachers as she struggled with a difficult question, but fought to answer it herself, I found the answer. I didn’t come here to teach, though what I taught was valuable. I came here to ask them two questions, or rather, to ask them to ask themselves those questions: why and how. Why are things the way they are? How can I make them better? Simple? Yes, like all things that are true. But nothing has been more awesome then to see my students slowly become liberated from dependence; to see the change in their eyes when they stopped asking me questions, and started asking themselves. I saw them become free.

Simulation

Day 64. 30 days left and counting. Can’t believe how fast this is going, one of my classes ends next week (Giants, which is sad) and the other two end the week after that. It’s crunch time.
This week has been good; Rachel and I had the best class we’ve ever had on Tuesday. It was at Giants (no surprise there). We’d just gone over Habit 6 from the 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, which is synergy, so we wanted to create a situation where they could experience some. This called for my favorite thing in the whole wide world (or one of them): a simulation. We walked into class Tuesday looking somber. We engaged in a little small talk before we started, but we remained reserved. Some of the members were late, but instead of starting I said, “Let’s wait. There’s something important I need to talk with you about, and I want everyone to be here.” When they’d arrived, I started. “I don’t know how to really say this,” I began, “But the administration wants to shut us down. They don’t feel like these classes are beneficial to you as teachers; basically they think you’re wasting you’re time here. They’ve given us one chance. If we can write a mission statement (they’d all had practice writing personal mission statements from Habit 2) for this class that explains the purpose of this class and why it’s beneficial to you I think they’ll let us keep going. But the catch is that Rachel and I can’t help, they want to know what you think, not what we think.” I let that sink in for a minute. They all looked stunned, like I’d slapped them across the face. Robert shook his head and said, “It’s simple; we can do it.” But he looked like he’d just been hit by a truck. Sambuze looked like he was about to cry. Godfrey was the first to recover, he busted out is notebook and started asking specifically what was needed in the mission statement and writing notes, getting organized. That sparked Sambuze out of his daze and he said, “Ok, we need to appoint a secretary.” I was so proud of them. But I wasn’t done. “Everyone take a deep breath. This is a simulation.” Up to that point the tension in the room was palpable. When I said that though, they all smiled and started laughing with relief. But I got back on them, “Take what you felt when you thought this was real, and use it, cause this is real. You have an hour. We’ll be outside. Godfrey, you’re chairman.” They had an hour (an hour and ten minutes actually, they asked for an extension and I decided to give it to them [hint-hint, Mr. Jensen, stop ending simulations early!]), and they did it. There was something of each of them in it, and they’d come together on all of it; not a single word did any of them feel unsure about. They were-and are-all behind it. I wanted so bad to be in there, to experience it with them, but I know my presence would be a distraction; this was something they had do on their own. The debrief was awesome, I wish I had enough time to describe it all to you. Just briefly, they talked about how at first, everyone wanted their own ideas, their own words, basically their own document. But they knew they needed one, so they pulled together, looking at their differences of opinions as opportunities rather than problems, and slowly, steadily, they forged together. They listened; they understood; they thought; they grew. I was so proud of them. The highlight came from Godfrey. “When you put me in charge, I didn’t think I could do it. But I can. I can.”

You want a title? Fine, here's a title.

It’s been a little bit since I wrote last, I’ll do my best to catch you all up. You remember the Kianna kid? Well, I keep running into him everywhere. Walking along the main road here I hear “Ben! Magala Ben! How are you?” I turn around, and it’s Kianna. Seen him several times, he seems to be everywhere. And apparently he’s been talking about me, cause everywhere I go, small children know my name. Everywhere, and I don’t even know them. What’s really funny is now I have adults coming up to me who know my name, and I have no clue who they are. I’m the most popular Mzungu on the block, and it’s pretty sweet. The kids are great. The other day during my daily trip down to the well, I taught a bunch of kids how to play tag. Little difficult when none of them spoke English, but they were smart kids and they caught on quick. Another group of kids walks Rachel and I to our Giants class; it started with two, and then today about 8-10 trekked along with us. But along with the innocent side of African life, there’s the not so innocent. Walking along with the kids and us there was a creepy old guy intent on being Rachel’s boyfriend. After hearing him declare that he “wanted and really liked” Rachel, I engaged him in a conversation about the weather, which was basically a nice way of telling him to get lost, which he got. That would have been a gloomy note to end the day on, but fortunately we still had Giants. After class our students told us how much the class had meant to them, how it had changed them. Robert told how he had used what he’d learned to repair a relationship with his boss; Godfrey has started paying so much attention to his kids that his wife has asked, “Why have the children stopped coming to me with questions and they now go to you?” Debra swears that she is in serious danger of “loving her students too much.” It’s such a blessing for Rachel and I to hear that what we’re doing is making a difference. People like this can change this country for better; to paraphrase Sambuze, they just need persistence. And Sambuze’s the most persistent guy I know.
The ultimate goal of LEU (Leadership Education Uganda, the organization I’m here with) was to get the teachers we’ve taught to start teaching the classes we’ve taught them to others. That began this week as Robert and Sambuze started a new TJEd class at Premier academy, a class that Sambuze set up. I’ve been attending just to observe and help in any way I can, and I’ve never been more inspired. Their class went superbly, far better than the same class had gone when I’d been the one teaching. Pretty soon, they won’t even need me any more, which is the point. Ha ha (victorious laugh) I love it. It’s awesome.