Sometimes I struggle when I know I should write about one thing and I feel uninspired. It is these times that I wish a writer would modify my words filling them with eloquence that would better express what is in my head and my heart. It is not that I am uninspired by what I should write about–quite the contrary. What I do not know is how to take such a fantastic and inspiring series of events and present them in an image that will portray a piece of what I experienced.

On Saturday the final game of a 13 team, 52 game, soccer tournament was held in the midst of a grand ceremony. This tournament was a dream of our partner in Northern Uganda who saw young men being idle in their villages unsure of how to fill their time and lacking hope after 10 years in IDP camps (internally displaced people camps). Yes, stability is returning to the region, safety is the norm rather than the sacred, and villages are being rebuilt. But the rebuilding of a village is easier on paper than in reality, and hope is a magical tool. And so our partner dreamt up and created a soccer tournament where they fund uniforms and soccer balls, and there are prizes of bulls and goats to eat, and a beautiful trophy for the winner to display. Participation requires the building of latrines and hand washing locations, and soccer scores include community transformation in terms of WASH (water, hygiene, and sanitation) and half-times are filled with song and dance about WASH created and performed by the players. I could never come up with a plan so brilliant–not in my most wild imagination.

The day of ceremonies included a parade of the players through town, demonstrations of latrines, washing stations, and hand pumps. Officials present included not only local and regional officials, but also the Minster of Water and Environment of Uganda; she was impressed by what she saw. The final soccer game was exciting and demonstrated the impressive skills of the players. The song and dance were both beautiful and inspiring.

As we visited communities in the two days following the ceremony, we saw transformation beginning in communities. We saw biosand filters and hand pumps and hand washing stations and dish racks. We saw hope and we saw soccer players filled with ownership of their program. One year. This program has only been running for one year and already the impact is tangible. In the coming years the program will grow–the hope is 60 teams within three years.

I wish I could capture these events for you. Smiling women. Laughing children. Welcoming men. Stories of triumph and a sense of pride. Over it all, hope. I am at a loss of how to share this, of how to construct this image, and so I close simply wishing that I could have transported you to a soccer field in Northern Uganda for a day of celebration.

Thank you. Apoyo matek. Thank you for coming to Uganda, and in particular, to Lira. Thank you for visiting. Thank you for breakfast. Thank you for lunch. Thank you for dinner. Thank you for water. I thank our God that we have been able to meet. Apoyo matek. Thank you for joining our celebration. Thank you for inviting us. Thank you for welcoming us. Thank you.

Those are the words that fill my ears and exit my mouth all day long. I am now in Uganda which, like much of Africa, is a thanking culture. Little can be assumed about any event–the starting time, how long it will last, what will occur, or what will be expected of me–except that I will say ‘Thank you’ and be told ‘Thank you.’ Sometimes it gets old and I begin to think that it would be great to hop skip and jump over the many thank you’s, effectively thinking, “Let’s move on and not spend more time on this.” And then I remember what it is like in America where we say “Hey” and “What’s up?” with more frequency than ”Thank you” and suddenly my patience increases. Apoyo matek.

There is a wonderful magic about children. They have the ability to capture the heart and the soul with nothing more than a smile and a twinkle in the eye, and tonight Gladys captured my heart.

We visited a girls’ home run by one of our partners. Here the children are well clothed, have wonderful facilities, and are surrounded by people who love them. Each child comes out of a difficult situation ranging from abandonment to living on the street to abuse to lacking parents. By being family with one another, they are rising out of these difficult, seemingly hopeless situations, to live full lives. They learn the enduring power of love and hope.

Tonight as these girls sang and danced for us, little Gladys, only two and a half years old, was held in the loving arms of her new sisters and mothers. Later, as she sat next to an older girl, she stretched her small hand out to greet me. Suddenly shy, she backed away to play pick-a-boo around the edge of the table, a game that stands outside of language or culture. Then I gathered this delightful child in my arms. Over the next minutes we shared smiles and gestures and she proceeded to capture my heart.

Before leaving I sat down to sign the guest book, Gladys still in my arms. An active child engaged in the world around her, she wanted to participate in the writing. So after I signed their guest book, young Gladys signed my field notebook. Now I have two pages of scribbles that are Gladys’s two year old signature sandwiched between pages of notes from endless days of meetings. These two pages, a reminder of a child who captured my heart in a moment, might be the most precious thing that notebook holds.

In case you were wondering, I have not forgotten you. It is simply that travel has been a bit consuming as of late. As I travel with Blood:Water job, I will post on occasion on our Blood:Water blog. My best guess is that you don’t read their site, so I figure the least I can do is post those entries here as well. This was written while I was in Zambia:

Today I returned from village tired from my time in the sun, from laughing with the children, and from sharing knowing looks with the women. The afternoon was spent installing 15 biosand filters in village, not long ago an informal settlement outside of Ndola, Zambia. Like so many technologies, the construction of a biosand filter is relatively simple: a concrete exterior created in a metal mold, a small pipe to carry water, layers of washed gravel and sand covered by a metal plate, all sealed by a wood cover. This simple technology has the potential to work for 15-20 years, is inexpensive to produce, and can reduce waterborne disease by 97%. But the expertise to create the filters and the money for the materials and labor is not enough. No where near enough. It takes education and the building of strong relationships to change long-established practices within a community. Though this takes longer than simply placing a filter in a home, it comes with the hope and possibility that the filter is the first step towards continued change, change that will come from the strength within the village.

For example, in a village not far from where I was today, where biosand filters have also been installed in some of the homes, our partner’s ongoing relationships and conversations with the locals led to a realization that the large garbage dumps within their village needed to be moved as they bred disease. The locals decided to move the dumps and clean their village. The combination of these efforts has led to such a great reduction of waterborne disease in the community that they said that, last year, for the fist time in their history, there was no cholera within the community.

Yes, a biosand filter is a fantastic technology, but it is the education and the relationships that are key to long term success. It is because of these things I am hopeful that, if I return to Zambia in 10 or 20 years, these communities will not only have clean water, but will also have taken significant other steps to reduce disease and further community development. Tonight I turn to bed tired, but hopeful.

Sometimes that is all you can say about a day. I set up a meeting last week. I called this morning to confirm the meeting. It is a hot day. When I stepped out of the taxi to go to the meeting, my glasses steamed over thanks to the cold, blasting ac in the car. The guards at the building told me that the person I was to meet was gone to a meeting. I phoned her cell. No response. I texted her cell to let her know I was there and waiting. No response. I talk to her secretary who says to be patient and wait; she is sure her boss will return.

I am given a UNICEF visitor’s badge and am shuttled to the cold waiting room. Here I sit on a hard wood bench. This afternoon, I ran out of the house without reading material, so, as I freeze, I read promotional material sitting on the coffee table, make a few phone calls, and make lists of things to do. I decide to leave after two hours.

Next time I will be sure to have reading material and a scarf or jacket to keep warm. But, today, Africa won again.

This past week I found myself in Arusha, a town near Mount Kilimanjaro to attend a conference. The conference itself was interesting, but beyond that also I got to go on a site visit to a school and a Massai women’s group, and visited the Rwanda War Tribes Tribunal. The most interesting thing at the school was the biofuel that was being used to in the kitchen (the school was boarding school). The biofuel was made of compacted sawdust. It is less expensive than the alternatives (wood, charcoal, or kerosene), burns extremely hot and for long periods of time, and produces no smoke. Absolutely fantastic!

The Massai women sung and danced for us. They make bracelets and necklaces to sell to tourists…seeing as all the money goes directly to the women, I couldn’t help but buy a few things. The women watched as I tried on different bracelets and admired the necklaces. Then when a woman pulled a necklace off her neck similar to the ones I was admiring, it was impossible to not buy it.

The Rwanda War Crimes Tribunal has been going since the end of the Rwanda genocide. As it is in Arusha and open to the public, it seemed that I should attend. Most of the people wore black robes, and one even had a wig. I sat listening with my headphones to the translators as the lawyers, judges, and witness went between French and English. Nothing earth shattering, but it was good to simply sit in a trial and see how they are done.

A week with my parents and we were able to explore Benin from the south to the north, from the east to the west. Much could be said about this week, so I have reduced it to a top 5 list. Thanks Mom & Dad for coming!

1 – Meeting the Team
My parent’s first night in Benin was spent relaxing in Cotonou meeting this year’s team (minus CR who had stayed in village). When we entered the section of the hotel where our rooms were I heard several squeals as the girls busted out of their rooms. Even though it made her uncomfortable, RC managed to use my parents first names. Later in the trip mom made the following comment, “I knew it would be wonderful to get to know your village, but I had no idea how wonderful it would be to meet your girls.” Yeah, I love them too. (Picture: the village team.)

2 – Village Life
The morning after they arrived we tackled the visa situation and then headed north to village. During our 45 hrs in village we got to go to market, greet a ton of people, eat my favorite village foods, listen to a big rainstorm early one morning, work with a couple people from another village to finish training on one of the water quality monitoring instruments, go for a walk, deliver gifts, take outdoor showers, get bit by mosquitoes in the latrine, sleep under mosquito nets, and say goodbye. It was packed, but it was perfect. I do not think I could have asked for anything more. (Picture: Me and Dad in front of some of the beautiful rocks & trees near my house in village. Our clothes were made locally with fabric bought at market during previous trips.)

3 – Beautiful Land
Benin is beautiful. As the country is not large, we were able to drive most of the way north and almost east to west as well. I think the most beautiful regions are where I live…the beautiful hills that give the Colline Department its name are fantastic, and at the north (north of Natitingou) where there is a stunning mountain pass. This was my first trip north, so it was exciting to see how the land, villages, and people changed. (Picture 1: Me & mom in front of the lower waterfalls in Tenengou, on the border of one of the national parks in the north. Picture 2: Mom & Dad relaxing.)

4 – Rich History
We stopped in Abomey, the ‘capital’ of the Fon people, which was the largest Kingdom in old Benin, where we toured the palace. Benin’s original name was Dahomey, after this kingdom. In the south we spent some time in Ouidah where we saw a Portugese slave trader’s home and did a tour of the slave route. In the US of A the history books seem to start on the slave boats, but the story began long before that with a rather dehumanizing process that occurred along the slave route. For me, these pieces of history are important as it creates a framework for both history and the modern culture. (Picture: Monument at the ‘Point of No Return” where the slaves boarded the ships for the Americas.)

5 – Cassa del Papa
The second to last night was spent at a nice, European / American style hotel. Only 7km from Ouidah, the hotel was located on the beach, had several pools, various other forms of entertainment, hot water, big towels, and great food. It was perfect after nearly a month in Benin for me and a week for my parents. We were able to be lazy around the pools (there is dangerous undertow along the beaches in Benin, so we enjoyed the pools while listening & watching the surf crash), play some speed scrabble, and just relax. Oh…and my first big breakfast in a month was eaten in the morning. It was luxurious. (Picture: View from our balcony of the storm rolling in just before sunset.)

As so happens with many things on the French keyboard, the “.” and “!” are not on the same keys as they are on the American keyboard. However, I find it interesting that on the French keyboard you have to press the shift key to access the “.”, but no shift is required for the “!”. I guess people are just more expressive in French!