I spent the night at a “night commuters” center on the outskirts of Gulu town. Gulu is the district/town most severely impacted by the war in the north and it was this center and the neighboring school that were featured in the original documentary by Invisible Children. Up until about 6 months ago hundreds upon hundreds of children would walk from their villages at night to sleep on the streets, verandas and various “centers” in Gulu town, which was more secure because it had the government military base. They did this to avoid the massacres and abduction of children LRA. In August there was a ceasefire leading to the peace talks you’ve seen me write about. As a result of the recent calm in the conflict, when I took the U.S. participants to Gulu 2 1/2 weeks ago there were only about 50 children sleeping at this particular center. Most children felt secure enough to stay at their homes and the ones that still commuted came out of habit or because they didn’t have anywhere else to sleep anymore. Because the LRA are no longer participating in peace talks as of a week or so ago, there is a completely different feeling being up there now than there was a mere two weeks ago. People are afraid again, they are moving back into IDP camps (many had started to move back to their villages) and when I went to the center last night there were over 100 children. I’d say about 20 were over the age of 12, but the rest were younger, down to about 3 years old. I hung out with them, they danced for me, I let the girls play with and style my hair and then we eventually went to bed. Well actually, they demonstrated how they are just typical kids by going from energetic to totally passed out in a matter of minutes.
They sleep in a cement building that is not fully enclosed. They sleep on mats and some blankets on the floor side by side. There were so many of them huddled next to each other for comfort and warmth.
There was one little girl (5 or 6 years old) who I completely fell in love with, she came up to me early on in the night and just started touching my toes and my skin. She was fascinated by the button on my watch that makes it light up. I slept next to her and her sister. I eventually had to move because the blanket I was on was damp with urine and I couldn’t handle the smell and the dampness anymore, but I stayed there until she fell asleep. Before she lay down she made sure her sister was covered with a blanket and then took her own shirt off to use as a pillow. She would open her eyes and look at me and we’d smile at each other until she would dose off again. She defined innocence. I hardly got any sleep. It was uncomfortable, they slept with the lights on because they are afraid of the dark, and a lot of them talked in their sleep and I couldn’t stop wondering what they were dreaming about, what they had been through, what their lives are like, what the feelings that motivate them to commute to this place every night must feel like...I had to catch an early bus from Gulu back to Kampala so I had to leave the center at 5am. It was still dark and I had to walk back to the Invisible Children volunteer house to get my bag. It was pitch black and the dirt road was deserted and haunting. I had a small flashlight, but every noise in the bushes made me jump and even though I’ll admit I was pretty scared to be walking by myself, I was grateful that I was able to not only experience spending the night, but some of the feelings of what the actual night commute must be like. Today I’ve been on the verge of tears all day. I’ve seen a lot of horrible things, but that little girl and all of those children wedged their way somewhere deep inside of me and I can’t stop picturing her image lying there amongst all of those other tiny children…her eyes looking at me as she fell asleep, her smile that said “it’s just life and it’s ok”, and I can’t stop thinking about how unfair life can be… that at the age of 5 or 6 she has to sleep in that environment, which is so much better than what could possibly happen to her should she sleep at home.
At least the way I feel now reminds me that I am human. It also reminds me that no matter how unfair a situation is, it is life and life moves on regardless. Those children are just children and despite their circumstance they look after one another, they sing, they dance and they laugh right up until they fall asleep curled up next to each other.
2 comments:
That was a really great post, thank you for it.
I know that from volunteering for years at the Rape Crisis Center I've come up on the "numbing yourself in order to do good work" phenomenon as well. For me though, it was especially conflicting because I am also a writer and in order to be an effective writer you have to be very aware and enveloped in your emotions so you must experience life as fully as possible so you can write about it, but then it is nearly difficult to do this line of work and be super emotional and super connected to your feelings all the time. What I've learned to do is to separate myself from my emotions when I'm helping the rape survivors, but when I go home use my family and friends as shoulders to cry on, as well as journal and write about it to get the sadness out without letting it build up. Sometimes letting yourself feel it in small increments here and there is not only healthy but good for your work because it inspires you to continue your great work!
I'm really impressed you spent the night in the Night Commuter Center, it takes real devotion to be willing to experience the discomforts of sleeping on a cement floor in order to better understand the children you're trying to help.
You're a real inspiration and I'm really proud of the work you're doing in Uganda and also proud to be apart of some of that great work!
Luvvv you.
I remember when you and I talked about when the conflict in the North would start to feel like a reality. It sounds as if the girl at the night commuter center made it into a flesh and blood monster. Bravo on writing with such sensitivity about it.
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