Throw Down Your Heart

I like to have a schedule. I like to know that I’m going to start with A, take a break and work on B, then finish with C, knowing that by the end of all my work I will have accomplished something worthwhile. I don’t necessarily like being committed to time slots; I still like to go with the flow of things. But I want to have the structure.

But here, I never know what I’m going to do when I wake up in the morning. Sure I might have an interview scheduled, but as soon as that interview’s over I have to have something else to do. I have to constantly be striving for the next interview, the next chance to observe, the next chance to travel to a village.

And it’s exhausting.

I try to relax and remind myself over and over again that I will find something to do – something incredible and educational will happen. But it’s so hard sometimes.

For example, I’ve been trying to meet with the Paramount Chief for weeks now. I’ve met several people around his office and interviewed many of them and made some really worthwhile connections. One of these being with the Ker Kal Kwaro Acholi Cultural Group, which is a group of young people that get together each week to practice Acholi dances. I interviewed their leaders, and I was invited to join them for practice on Sunday.

The practice started out slowly. I was told to arrive at 3:00 pm, and for some reason I decided to show up on time, even though I knew better. The only people there were the kids, and we were simply waiting for the adults to show up so the real practice could start. But while we waited, a group of about 30 children under the age of 10 started practicing their own dances. The little boys played rhythms on the drums while other boys and girls performed the carefully practiced courtship dance. It wasn’t perfect, no – they were practicing after all. But these children didn’t have an adult coach that was telling them to stop when something wasn’t right or directing their missteps. Their coach was a 7 year old boy who directed all the other children with confidence and ease. And the children listened to him, and they danced and enjoyed themselves – totally self-directed. Their parents may have taken them to the center to learn, but they poured their whole hearts into it on their own.

I had this experience by accident. I was invited to join this dance group in the process of looking for something else. The truth is, it scares me when I wake up on Monday morning and don’t know what my week or even my day will look like. I’m afraid that if I don’t get out there, I’ll miss talking to a key informant or I’ll miss an opportunity for visiting a village. I want my research to be the best it can be. I want to finish in May and know that I did the best I could. That I looked under every rock I could find to dig up information.

There have been enough people in this town conducting research that amounts to nothing. Will my research amount to nothing? And not just for my own self-gratification. I’m intruding on peoples’ privacy. I go to their homes and ask them questions about their personal lives, and in some cases my visit brings hope for a better future, regardless of the fact that I’m powerless to change anyone’s future here. Will all of this be for nothing? If I don’t do the best job I can, I’m letting all of these people down. I owe it to everyone I interview and everyone I will interview, every life that I touch.

That’s why I wake up stressed on Monday. I want to do my best to honor the contribution of all of my friends that have contributed and the professors that have guided me.

But I know that almost every Monday, I wake up and receive a phone call or I take my own initiative to visit a place. And that is when I usually have the best experiences and meet the best people. It takes a lot of faith to not know what’s going to happen next. It even terrifies me, sometimes.

But if I continue to stand on the edge of my comfort and refuse to jump, my feet won’t land on anything at all because they never even left the ground.

Gulu is helping me to find beauty in the unexpected.