I finished exams just a few hours ago. Now that my mind is free to wander outside of the scope of constitutional and corporate law, I find myself reflecting on the past year. 2017 has been a difficult year for a few reasons, but I can’t help but think back on the last 12 months with gratitude and wonder. I am so grateful for the beautiful souls I’ve encountered on this year’s journeys, and I have been reminded of an important lesson–family isn’t limited to relation by blood or marriage, but it’s who we choose and who choose us back.
Like 2016, 2017 took me all around the world (on a strict travel budget, of course)–to Costa Rica and Mexico in January, to Israel and Palestine over spring break, and to Egypt and Uganda–a country I now consider a second home because of the amazing people I came to know there–during the summer. I am so thankful for another year of adventure, and for those of you who have followed along with the blog and sent your encouragement and kind words along the way!
Here are my top posts from the year:
10.
I wandered through some rainforests in the greenest place on earth with my head in the clouds. (Monteverde, Costa Rica)
9.
I learned about keeping my heart light like a feather while exploring one of the 7 wonders of the ancient world. (Cairo, Egypt)
I witnessed for myself the history, pain, and complexity of modern Israel. I visited Jesus’s empty tomb in Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, walked the Via Dolorosa, and offered a prayer at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem. I also visited Yad Vashem and met a Holocaust survivor, and recommitted myself to working to make sure human beings never “other” each other again. I also learned first-hand about the injustice in the West Bank while meeting with entrepreneurs and activists during a visit to Ramallah, and I know that I have a responsibility to share what the experience taught me. (Israel/Palestine)
Views of Nazareth. “Pulled into Nazareth, was feeling bout half past dead” – The Weight, The Band
I recommitted myself to seeking justice for the oppressed and learned an incredible amount from some of the strongest human rights defenders in the world while working as an intern with Human Rights Network for Journalists-Uganda. (Lira, Uganda)
…and another almost near death experience to show me how strong I actually am. (La Fortuna, Costa Rica)
2.
A night in the Judean desert reminded me of the importance of being still and listening in the midst of chaos. (Israel)
1.
My grandmother passed away in February. I was reminded that, while we have too many tears here on this earth, there are no tears in heaven, and I have a special guardian angel looking out for me. (NYC/Memphis)
Thank you, 2017! ❤ Japan and China (and who knows where else!), I will see you in 2018!
Enjoying wearing my Yimba creation back home in the USA
One of the most rewarding parts of my 10 weeks living in Kampala this summer was connecting with a local organization that is working to empower young people, particularly young women, with job skills training, education, and reproductive health tools.
In the Luganda language, yimba means “to sing.”
I learned about Yimba through my ex-pat friend Carissa, who was having some beautiful clothes made by some local tailors while we were both in Kampala this summer. She shared their Instagram with me (@yimba_uganda) and I was immediately hooked…I had to have some clothes made, too! Little did I know that the beautiful clothes were just the tip of the iceberg of the work this amazing organization is doing.
Yimba provides a structured training program in seamstressing and tailoring, providing technical training to young women and men so that they can become economically independent through their skills. Trainees complete a full course and graduate from the program with the all the skills needed to start their own tailoring businesses.
Me with the amazing design team in the Yimba studio!
Through my conversations with members of the Yimba team, I learned about how feminine hygiene and reproductive education are key human rights issues. I had always known female reproductive health was a human rights issue on an intellectual level, but hearing about the issue first-hand made me realize just how much work there is to be done in this area. And Yimba is addressing this issue in a meaningful and impactful way.
Half of the world’s population are women. Women menstruate…every month. Yet somehow discussion of this simple fact of life is taboo in many parts of the world (yes, even in the U.S. still). In Uganda, as well as in many other parts of the developing world, lack of access to feminine hygiene products means that many girls have to stay home and miss school when they get their periods. This means that girls miss 25% of their schooling each year, and often drop out as a result.
Menstrual hygiene products as we know them in the U.S. (pads and tampons) are often unavailable in rural parts of Uganda. Even if they are available, they are too expensive. This means many girls must resort to leaves, grass, pieces of mattress, or even stones during this time of the month. And even if girls have access and can afford these products, there is the problem of how to dispose of used pads and tampons. As there is neither trash collection nor septic systems in most parts of the country, disposal of these used products presents a real hygiene problem—especially when you consider animals can often find their way into trash piles. Reusable hygiene products are the most hygienic, affordable, and environmentally sound solution to this multi-faceted issue.
In addition to the clothing items they make for customers and as part of their training, Yimba trainees produce reusable feminine hygiene products for distribution to rural areas of Uganda. As of the time of my visit to Yimba, almost 1,000 menstrual hygiene packets had been distributed to girls throughout rural Uganda. Yimba trainees sew a reusable, water-resistant liner using a special fabric imported from Kenya. Then, Yimba trainees sew 8 flannel fillers that can be washed and reused with the liner each month. The liner and fillers are distributed with soap, 2 plastic bags, and 3 pairs of underwear so that recipients have something to wear the pads on.
This simple packet of supplies can ensure that girls continue to go to school during their periods.
Yes, I am writing about panty liners and menstrual pads on my blog. But we all need to talk about this more! If something as simple (or dare I say “taboo”) as reusable menstrual pads allow girls to stay in school and get an education, then I am happy to shout about this from any rooftop.
Female empowerment and beautiful clothes—what more could anyone ask for?!
After scheduling my fitting with the Yimba team, I went to the fabric market located in central Kampala and picked out 12 yards total of 4 different kitenge fabrics. Kitenge is a traditional African fabric that is a bit thicker and comes in a variety of beautiful prints. I visited the market with my friends Nat and Jem—Nat was also on a kitenge-finding mission in anticipation of her visit to Yimba! While I was a bit overwhelmed by all the choices, I let the fabrics speak to me and ultimately decided on these:
The next step was to meet with the Yimba team to discuss what exactly I was looking for, and to have them take my measurements. I had one fabric in particular that was a bit too “waxy,” but the team had an amazing idea to create a beautiful trench coat out of it. I also ordered a shirt, a crop top + skirt combo, a long high-slit skirt, and a variety of purses, hair turbans, and neckties from the leftover fabric.
A week later, I went to try on their creations, and I could not have been more pleased! I have been enjoying my kitenge works of art ever since. I am still waiting for it to get cold enough in NYC to wear my trench!
Anyone who is visiting Kampala soon, I encourage you to visit the team at Yimba Uganda. Not only will you come away with some beautiful gifts for your loved ones (and yourself!) but you will have an opportunity to take part in something bigger than yourself—the chance to meet some amazing young Ugandan women and support the work they are doing to help other Uganda women stay in school and pursue their goals.
Since leaving this beautiful country, I carry Uganda with me in my heart every single day, and on the days I wear my Yimba clothes it shows on the outside as well!
You can learn more about Yimba and how to support their work here: http://www.yimbauganda.org. Also follow them on Instagram at @yimba_uganda !
Attempting to help carry a jerry can at work in my new Yimba kitenge top! There was a debate over whether the pattern looked more like pineapples or fish scales…
Enjoying my kitenge skirt on Lake Victoria on my last night in Uganda ❤
There’s a narrative about Africa told by the West that continues to leave out important details, at best, or misrepresent the continent and its people, at worst. Westerners seem to relish, to some extent, the pull at the heartstrings that comes when footage streams across the television of starving orphans wandering barefoot along the dirt roads of some remote village here. I say “relish” because seeing these images and then sending money, clothing, missionaries, or whatever makes many Westerners “feel good” because they are “doing something” to “help” those in need.
The Africa I know is strong enough to help itself.
The narrative of Africa as helpless needs to stop. Businesses here can grow on their own, but not as long as foreign aid is given in such a way that depresses local economies, and not as long as African businesses are effectively locked out of the global economy. (For example, Amazon and Paypal may say they operate here, but from conversations I’ve had they don’t really, which prevents local entrepreneurs from expanding operations. Sadly, the people I spoke with believe this is all because people think they are being scammed if they make online payments to “someone in Africa” so these companies see no need to invest in infrastructure here.) Local economies here can’t grow as long as the Western world keeps telling itself Africa “needs” us more than we “need” them.
My first night in Kampala, my roommate and I ordered pizza from Jumia, an online food delivery service that functions just like Seamless, GrubHub, or Delivery.com. I have to admit I was surprised to “find this in Africa,” but really it was just the beginning of me checking my own ignorance at the door.
Most Ugandans I have met have a cell phone (and no, I haven’t been in Kampala the whole summer…I’ve travelled to some remote villages and small towns too!) There is also pretty good cell service throughout most of the country. But you don’t see this on TV back in the USA.
I’ve spent many afternoons at Kabira Country Club and Acacia Mall here in Kampala—my favorite places to relax. They are frequented by both “muzungu” families and black families. But you don’t see this on TV back in the USA. I admit these places are evidence of wealth disparity, but America has these problems too, and it doesn’t help to pretend that these places don’t or can’t exist in a place like Uganda. The question should be about upward mobility instead of denying, or not caring enough to find out, that there is development like this already here.
Photo taken at Acacia Mall!
It’s true corruption is a huge problem. One reason there are so many potholes in so many of the roads here (at least the ones that are paved) is that a lot of civil servants “pay themselves” from the allocated funds. But Westerners need to stop paying lip service to being concerned about corruption. There may not be much “we” can do about this, but I’d suggest at a minimum to start paying attention to news reports when another dictator “wins” an election, or when a ruler “refuses” to step down after losing a monitored, democratic election. We have to first start caring by paying attention. Who knows what may happen when the world opens its eyes and starts speaking up about the things that matter? From many conversations I’ve had, it’s not that Africa doesn’t want the world to send aid or intervene in some way; rather, it’s that they prefer to be empowered to help themselves.
And it’s true there is a lot of poverty here, but there is also a lot of innovation. There’s an education problem (there is in the USA too) but Ugandans are educated. In fact, most Ugandans I’ve met speak and write with better English than a lot of people I know in the USA. And they are all multi-lingual—a skill severely lacking in the USA.
And it’s true that many women here have several children. French President Emmanuel Macron recently put Western arrogance on display by proclaiming African women need to have fewer children. It’s true family planning resources are harder to come by here than in the West, but we (at least we Americans) are lying to ourselves if we think we have it all figured out. In fact, I’ve been told many times by Ugandan women here that children are viewed as a blessing from God. So maybe it’s a cultural choice. Who are we to judge? The cultural superiority needs to stop.
There are 54 nations on this continent, and I’ve only spent time in Uganda this summer (I’ve visited Zambia, Zimbabwe, South Africa, and Egypt before, though), so my experiences here are informing my broader opinions about how the West approaches the continent. But we do need to check ourselves each time we are about to buy into this narrative that Africa is the “dark continent,” dying from AIDS and starvation. While there are areas where humanitarian crises dominate (like South Sudan), we need to stop pitying the continent. The last thing Africa, or Uganda for that matter, needs in a savior from the West.
I’m not saying aid should stop, or that people should stop taking service trips here for humanitarian or religious reasons. But we should stop and think about our motives and be realistic about how, and if, “our work” from the West is really helping countries like Uganda grow and develop organically on its own. And I think we should start by actually paying just as much, if not more, attention to what’s going on politically in Africa in the news as we do to those heart-rending videos of starving children in orphanages. If Africa is allowed to grow and develop on its own, more families here will be able to provide for their kids.
An example of what I consider a “good” type of aid that involves sustainable employment solutions
The narrative needs to change. I ask everyone who has been reading my blog or following my Instagram and Facebook posts over the summer to ask me more about my time here. It’s not all destitution! The narrative of the West needs to portray Africa as a peer, not as a charity project, and it starts with how we all discuss this amazing continent together.
Am I in NYC or Uganda?! Celebrating my birthday at Cafeserrie
I broke my sandal playing soccer! Fortunately, this man was able to repair it on the side of the road for about 25 cents USD. Soccer is big in my office and we play often…I only play barefoot or in tennis shoes now!
Hello, hello! Long time, no talk. I am a bit behind on my blogging. Part of the reason is because I have been so busy here in Kampala, with both work and with personal travels. But I have to admit the main reason is that I don’t feel like I am “traveling” these days; I feel like I am just living my life here in Uganda.
The last couple of weeks have been full of highs and lows. In an effort to be honest and real, I have to write about both at the risk of sounding like I am complaining. I will try to alternate between the positives and negatives as I catch you, my readers, up on the Kampala life.
Pro: My birthday was fabulous!!
I turned 28 years old since I last posted! Thanks to my amazing co-workers and new ex-pat and local friends from here in Kampala, I celebrated my birthday with a surprise party/Ugandan feast during the day and with a dinner at my favorite Kampala restaurant, Cafeserrie, at night. My co-workers also showered me in gifts…I was truly humbled! ❤ This birthday was one of my best yet—it reminded me so much of last year, when I trekked Vinicunca Mountain in Peru and the local villagers threw me a mini-surprise party. It is going to be so hard to beat #27 and #28!
Con: “Africa time”
Both locals and ex-pats alike use this term to describe the perpetual lateness of literally everyone and everything here. For example, when messaging our office last week about the start time of a meeting, the head of my organization who is a native Ugandan said “2pm, No Africa time please!” While I can be guilty of being late myself from time to time back in the US, nothing in the US comes close to being on par with “Africa time.” Basically, it means double however long something is supposed to last, or add an hour or so on to any time at which something is supposed to start.
This week in particular, I’ve had some bad experiences with Africa time. I think the worst experience was when the bus that was supposed to take our team to Masaka for a training led by the UN Office of the High Commissioner on Human Rights arrived to pick us up 5 hours late. That’s right, 5 hours….that means we arrived in Masaka at midnight, because of course the 2 hour journey took 5 hours in “Africa time.” We then went to a local restaurant to eat, as no one had eaten dinner. I was so exhausted and nauseated from the trip I could barely eat anything (and also, I think I’ve had my fill of Ugandan food, as described in the next con).
Exhausted from late night travel…All piled into our matatu (a Ugandan taxi) on the trip back from Masaka…fortunately the trip back was not as traumatic!
One thing I love about Africa time is it means more leisure and less stress and worry. It’s been so nice to slow down from my usual NYC pace and live life at a pace that allows me to enjoy each day and live in the moment. However, this week has really made me miss the efficiency of the good ole US of A. I guess one positive is I now have an accurate way to describe the NYC subway system…it’s just running on Africa time!
Enjoying a stop at the Equator on the way back from Masaka with the team
Pro: Jinja, the Source of the Nile
Last weekend in Jinja was amazing! Located about three hours (Africa time) from Kampala, Jinja is home of the source of the Nile River, which flows north through Uganda through South Sudan to Egypt and the Mediterranean. Jinja town was adorable, and full of so many cute art shops. I bought so much here!! (Including lots of jewelry for myself and friends and family, and 2 sets of coasters for my apartment, haha…adulting hard!!) Saturday, I kayaked in the still waters while Carissa rented a stand-up paddle board.
That evening, we did a “dinner cruise” (which was actually more like a booze cruise) down the Nile at sunset. There were about 20 military members from the US, France, and the UK on the cruise from our campsite, so you can imagine this got to be pretty entertaining. Carissa and I camped in our tent along the banks of the Nile that night…it rained hard but our tent kept out all the water!
Sunset along the NileEnjoying a “quiet” moment on the “dinner cruise” hahaha
The next day, we went on an all-day rafting trip. This was my first time ever whitewater rafting, and it was a blast!! The rapids were grade 5, which is the most difficult level there is. Our guide, Koa, instructed us expertly as we navigated each rapid. We flipped over twice!!
Between each rapid, there was a nice long stretch of still water where we could relax and swim. I even got pulled out of the boat twice…the military guys would row up next to our boat and use their paddles to pull me in! Then Koa would have to pull me back into the boat. It was pretty hilarious.
I’m about to fly out of the boat here!
Pretty sure I am the one already facedown in the water haha
Con: Food
I started out really loving the food here, but after 1 month of it, I think I am done. One problem is the portions at lunch are so huge, and I get “in trouble” if I don’t eat “enough”! I have even talked to our cooks twice about giving me smaller portions each day, but they continue to pile it on. Also, matoke is literally served at every meal. I have had enough matoke to last me the rest of my life.
My appetizing dinner in Masaka…the pea soup actually tasted good though. I didn’t eat the matoke… 😦
The good news is I have found a pizza place here that I like, as it’s my #1 food back in NYC, as well as a place that sells hummus, so hopefully I can survive the next 1.5 months. There’s also a Pizza Hut if I get desperate and homesick enough! And, there is always Cafeserrie, where I go at least once a week now, which has delicious salads, pastas, and pizzas.
This week, I am going to have to start being a bit more firm about my lunch at work. As good as it is and as generous as they are, I do not want to be force-fed! I also still want to fit in my clothes when I go back to NYC, lol…
Pro: Sunshine and summertime
I have found my happy place here in Kampala—Kabira Country Club. A day pass costs 40,000 shillings (about $11) and it allows me to use the gym and the beautiful pool for the whole day! They also offer massages and have a salon on the premises, and their kitchen serves amazing food right to my chair by the pool!
A delicious colorful salad by the pool for lunch yesterday at Kabira…my happy spot!
Pro/Con: Work
The pro is I love and admire my dedicated and professional team, and the work we are doing together to promote media freedom is extremely important. However, it’s been a tough week. I wrote an article in the Daily Monitor about a situation involving a radio station here. The Ugandan authorities then called me out personally in a reply published in New Vision that also denied several facts I had included in my write-up that had been vetted by my team. I know my team faces this type of opposition on a regular basis, but it was a first for me. It was a reminder that this work is not easy.
In addition, last week, I travelled to Masaka (the journey is described above) to participate in a UN human rights field training for journalists. Our UN officer did a fantastic job giving an overview of the background, development, and mechanisms of human rights law for the participants, as well as advising on practical ways to ensure truth in reporting when it comes to human rights violations.
Working the registration table with D, my manager/”work mom”! Love this lady! ❤
However, a lively and contentious discussion arose when our UN officer stated that LGBT persons are entitled to the universal human rights set forth in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. I was very taken aback by the refusal of many members of the group to acknowledge that LGBT people are entitled to the same human rights that heterosexual people are entitled to, including the right to life, liberty and security of person regardless of sex or status as clearly laid out in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Whether or not a person agrees that same-sex marriage is a right, I was shocked that it was even a question that gay people should not enjoy the same universally recognized freedoms as everyone else simply because they are gay.
I had read about the obstacles that members of the LGBT community face here in Uganda, as this is the country that in 2013 tried to pass a law that would sentence gay people to the death penalty. The law was amended to give only a life sentence in prison (“only” is used ironically here) but was later overturned on a technicality. LGBT people still face a prison sentence in Uganda.
It shouldn’t matter whether or not you agree with the LGBT “lifestyle” for religious reasons–no one should die or be in danger for being gay.
The prejudice and misconceptions about the LGBT community became very apparent to me during this training as the discussion unfolded, and I shared my opposing views with the group. I will be perfectly honest—it was quite scary to do this in this setting, but I could not look my gay friends back in the US (and here for that matter) in the eye if I didn’t stand up for them when it mattered. I will be writing more about this at a later date.
After a trying day at the conference, it was nice to enjoy a pick-up game of soccer with the team!
Pro: Dinner parties!
Tonight, Jill and I are hosting our new third roommate, our Airbnb hosts, and our local friend Nat and Jem for a dinner in our apartment! Therefore, it’s time to wrap up this post, as I’ve got to get to hosting 🙂 Until next time!
On Tuesday, I got to go on my first road trip across Uganda—north to the town of Lira. It was a rollercoaster 36 hours, in more ways than one.
My reason for travel was professional. My organization was representing a journalist in the town of Lira—we will call him “J”—who had been arrested one fateful evening just before the presidential election last year during the airing of his radio political talk show, along with four other politicians. J and his co-defendants had been kept on trial for 16 straight months without the state producing a single witness for the “crime” of alleged defacement of political posters. The irony is that J could not have been involved with the defacement as he was on the air during the time the act occurred. Nevertheless, he was relentlessly prosecuted as part of an effort to chill political dissent and freedom of expression. Our client made 12 consecutive appearances before the court over this period, and each time the court would adjourn and require his presence at the next hearing, presumably until the state could produce witnesses.
Our client’s rights were being violated under both Ugandan law (Article 28(1) of the Constitution) and international customary law (the right to a fair and speedy trial). So, my organization sent my colleague K, an attorney on staff who focuses on litigation, and me north to Lira to argue for the dismissal of the charges.
K and I set off on our journey from the central bus station of Kampala. We had two options for bus travel—the GaaGaa Coach and the Baby Coach. Both were public buses without air conditioner that cost 20,000 shillings one way (about $5), yet the GaaGaa coach was known to be slightly more comfortable and organized. Of course, we missed the GaaGaa coach by 5 minutes, so we booked our tickets on the infamous Baby Coach.
We weren’t the only ones who wanted to ride GaaGaa
After sitting on the bus for about 1.5 hours as they changed tires and continued to load more customers in, we started down the road out of Kampala north toward Lira. K and I were pretty cramped on the Baby Coach, as the tiny “baby-sized” seats were covered in plastic and super sticky. But once the bus started rolling, the fresh air made the circumstances more manageable. In accordance with what I am coming to realize of “Africa time,” the 4 hour drive took about 7 hours.
A typical roadside stop for snacks…we made about 20 of these
One thing we were not lacking on this road trip was snacks! My favorite part of the trips to and from Lira was when the bus would pull over and local vendors would swarm up to our windows, selling their goods. Sometimes, if they spotted me, I would hear “Muzungu! Muzungu!” from down below. (Muzungu is Luganda for white person haha). At almost every stop, I tried to buy something new…I enjoyed the gonja (roasted banana-like fruit), g-nuts, and cassava (a roasted root that tastes like mashed potato). I didn’t try the meat on a stick (still vegetarian these days!), roasted corn, jackfruit (because I don’t like it), or Rolex (chapatti—a Ugandan bread—with egg wrapped inside), but they were selling all of these things as well. They also sold live chickens to any interested buyers!
Want to buy a live chicken from your bus window? No problem!
We also passed over the Nile and saw several baboons about halfway along the journey, and spotted many obusisira, or traditional hut-style houses along the way.
Crossing the Nile River near Murchison Falls
Once we finally arrived in Lira, our mission came into sharper focus. We first met with J and gave him our assessment of the facts and the applicable law. “I pray to God this is over with tomorrow and I can be a free man again,” he explained. It was clear the case had taken a toll on J physically and emotionally, as he seemed very tired and worn down.
Given the political nature of our case, our client warned us that he thought we were being “tracked” (this was later confirmed from sources both in Lira and Kampala), and he advised a certain secure hotel for K and me to spend the night. He led us to a small gated hotel just off a dirt road on the edge of town. While this was supposed to be the “safe” hotel, I instantly felt sketched out by this place. Trusting my feminine instincts, I discreetly asked K if we could keep looking, and he agreed.
We then asked if we could stay at the M Hotel, which looked much newer, cleaner, and more secure, but this immediately alarmed our clients. “This place is not safe and there have been many kidnappings here,” they stated. However, after visiting, I for some reason felt way safer in this place than the last place—it was much more well-lit and the staff seemed trustworthy. After finding his cousin was on security detail that night, our client finally acquiesced to allowing us to spend the night here, and allowed me to settle into my room only after thoroughly checking it for wiretaps and working locks. Even though my room “checked out,” I slept with the chair under the doorknob just in case as I was thoroughly freaked out. And it takes a lot to freak me out! Also, it made me feel better knowing K was just 2 doors down. I was so relieved to see we both survived the night to attend the trial the next day!
The next morning, we arrived at the courthouse and met our client J, his brother, and his four co-defendants. Even though we were charged with defending J, K agreed to represent the other four at the request of the magistrate, as he preferred to keep the matters grouped together. Because K is a legal champ, he agreed. (Some judges are called “magistrate” here). We then proceeded to wait outside for 2.5 hours with all other defendants before we were called by the attendant into the chambers.
Before our hearing, full of nerves and anticipation
We spent the time chatting about the case and life in general, and it passed surprisingly fast. I was particularly taken aback by the arrival of the 30 or so male inmates from the jail down the road. They arrived on foot, escorted by prison guards and handcuffed to one another. They then knelt on their knees before the 20 ft x 20 ft cinderblock “holding cell” for about 30 minutes, before they were allowed in.
Once inside the cell, the sound of voices drifted beyond the cinderblocks, harmonizing together to form a song in a language I couldn’t understand, but understood all the same.
“They sing to give themselves hope,” K explained to me.
Finally, it was our time to go before the magistrate. As we entered the chambers, the magistrate immediately looked to me. There is no doubt I stood out, as I was the only muzungu around and also one of very few women present on the premises.
“Are you with CNN or BBC?” he asked me. I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or serious. I later found out he was serious.
“Neither, your honor,” I replied. “I am a law student at New York University, and am an intern with K this summer.”
“I see,” he replied. “You will see… we apply the law here in Uganda.”
“Yes, your honor,” I replied. But secretly, I wasn’t sure yet.
K opened with a clear and concise argument—this case had dragged on for 16 months, and our clients’ rights to a fair and speedy trial had been violated. This right is not only given in the Ugandan constitution and in international law, but is a bedrock of democracy. K argued for dismissal of the charges under the Magistrates Court Act Cap 16, Section 119(1) (want of prosecution). After a short response from the prosecution, the magistrate issued his ruling in favor of the defendants. Tears sprang into my eyes as I looked over at J and saw his eyes filling with tears as well. He is now free of the burden of being prosecuted for no reason, and can return to his family in a nearby village to rest and recover from the trauma.
K and me giving J a high five!
After some congratulatory high-fives and hugs, K and I jumped on some boda bodas to pick up our bags from the hotel, and then to board the bus back to Kampala. We were lucky to book the GaaGaa coach this time around! We had lunch with one defendant at the Divine Mercy café—matoke, dried fish, and rice—before boarding the bus for the 4 hour (lol…7 hour) journey back to Kampala.
As the bus passed back through the beautiful rural countryside, I felt truly grateful that justice had been delivered for J and the four other men that day. However, I couldn’t help dwelling on the maxim “justice delayed is justice denied” and feeling like a part of J will never be healed after being taken, beaten, imprisoned, and relentlessly prosecuted for expressing his political beliefs and performing his job as a journalist. I think the irony is that the more a government tries to suppress the freedom of expression, the louder those voices will rise from behind whatever temporary walls are places around them—much like the prisoners in the holding cell at the Lira court, singing their songs of pain and hope, reality and dreams of a better world.
Jambo from Kampala! I can’t tell you how excited and amazed I am to be continuing a second summer of blogging. At this point last summer, I was in Southeast Asia and had no idea what the following year, much less the following summer, held for me. I feel very fortunate to be living in Uganda for the next 10 weeks after finishing my first year in law school, and to have the opportunity to pursue my academic interests while exploring another corner of the world.
Getting my own wifi hotspot in Uganda for the summer…a beautiful moment! After a bit of self-reflection, I realize my blog posts from last summer were a bit on the fluffy and introspective side. Don’t get me wrong—that’s not a bad side to be on! I greatly enjoy being fluffy and introspective as a favorite pastime, and don’t worry—there will be plenty of those posts this summer. 🙂 However, after traveling for exactly one day in Egypt, I was confronted (actually, more like slapped in the face…) by a serious issue—the issue of travel privilege.
I actually hesitate to use the term “privilege”—I feel it carries such a heavy political connotation these days, and many people instantly tune out when they hear or read the word “privilege.” (I.e. asking someone to “check your privilege” will sometimes result in that person deciding he doesn’t have to listen to what you’re saying instead of continuing to engage…a hard reality for those who argue privilege is something that should be recognized and checked (myself included), but a reality nonetheless).
But I have to use the term privilege here, because it precisely describes my situation and the situation of millions of other Americans. Any American can spin a globe, put her finger down, say “I’m travelling here!” and make it happen. (This is apart and separate from financial ability to travel, which I’ve discussed in a previous post, and will revisit again in a later post this summer). It’s humbling to admit the “point, pick, and go” strategy is more or less what I did when I planned my around-the-world trip last summer. What I failed to fully realize then, and what I realize more now, is not every person enjoys the right of freedom of movement and travellike Americans do.
I met and spoke with several Egyptians during my 10 hours in Cairo who made me realize how much of a problem this is. My guide for the day in Cairo was by far one of the best, smartest, and most genuinely kind guides I’ve ever met when traveling. I casually asked him if he had ever been to the USA. “No, it’s almost impossible to get a visa there for leisure travel if you’re from the Middle East,” he replied. And this policy predates Donald Trump.
I can get a visa instantly to his country upon arrival, but he can’t do the same for my country. How do I get this very benefit that he is denied simply due to our differing national origins? I happened to be born in the USA, and he happened to be born in Egypt, and yet this luck of the draw dictates the destinations on this planet where he and I are each free to travel. I am no more deserving than he is of the benefits that come from traveling for personal pleasure and learning, yet I face far fewer barriers in far fewer countries than others face. This is example #1 of the definition of travel privilege.
Another privilege? Strength of currency. As Americans, we enjoy a relatively strong US dollar. While we may complain how “expensive” it is for us to travel to Europe or the UK, the truth is we can afford to travel pretty much anywhere when it comes to currency exchange rates. However, Egypt has seen its currency fall from 7 EGP to 1 USD to 18 EGP to 1 USD over the last decade. Not only is this prohibitive to leisure travel, but it’s prohibitive to parents being able to put food on the table for their families. A currency decline of this magnitude, coupled with the decline of a major industry (in the case of Egypt, tourism) means it’s harder for many families to make ends meet, and more kids are going hungry. I’ve met others over the years from different countries (including South Africa, Hungary, and Thailand) who have told me how the strength of the US dollar make it nearly impossible for them to visit the US. Meanwhile, Americans who choose to travel at all do so and complain about currency exchange rates. Shame on us.
Cairo, EgyptWhat about immigration? Trump only opposes illegal immigrants, right? Well, think of the scenarios I just described above. Many families who want to leave everything they have ever known and try to make a better life for themselves and their children in America must enter a lottery. That’s right—the US federal government still sets a quota for each country (this is 2017, not 1887) , and then each country draws numbers for who gets to leave. I had always known this was the case generally, yet I had no idea the impact that this policy ritual of a scheduled “lottery” with a hard cut-off number has on people’s daily lives. My waiter in the Cairo airport told me the U.S. lottery for Egypt is next month—he is already counting down the days. He has a friend who “won” the lottery a few years ago, and was able to move to America. I would wager that most Americans are not even aware such lotteries still exist–I have to admit I didn’t know there was still an actual lottery–yet people like my waiter in Egypt literally count down to the day when these lottery drawings happen.
It isn’t like all Egyptians are looking to immigrate permanently—in fact, most Egyptians I met have an immense amount of national pride, and were very hospitable, welcoming, excited to share their country, and not looking to leave anytime soon. Yet the fact is that the economic downturn and political instability have hit the country hard in recent years. Permanent immigration concerns aside, the ability to travel freely in the world remains severely restricted for many citizens of Egypt and other countries. Many simply want to visit the USA for the same reason many Americans would want to visit Egypt– to experience a different culture, learn a rich history, and take in the sites and stories for themselves. Immigration and border control is one thing. But restricting travel visas completely? That’s a different issue entirely.
What can we Americans who value the freedom of movement and the benefits of travel do about it? As I alluded to above, once you realize how you’ve benefited from travel privilege, it’s hard not to feel some degree of guilt for the undeserved advantages you’ve received from a characteristic beyond your control (i.e. national origin). Yet there isn’t really anything you can do about your national origin. I think the first thing to do is maintain self-awareness of the travel privilege you experience, and then translate this into empathy for those you meet along your journeys. At the end of the day, we all share this earth together, and we are all equally curious to learn and explore. Next, work to translate this empathy into more humane visa and immigration policies through legislation and executive action on the federal level.
Privilege is when you don’t have to worry about something because it doesn’t affect you directly. But whatever “it” is always affects someone directly. So let’s act now by being conscious of what other travelers are facing, and by building empathy and pushing for governmental action to make the world a more equitable place for all.
A person’s ability to travel the world shouldn’t hinge simply on what passport he or she holds.
Ezekiel 3:15: “Then I came to them of the captivity at Tel Aviv, that lived by the river Chebar, and to where they lived; and I sat there overwhelmed among them seven days.”
Tel Aviv, meaning “hill of spring,” is the second largest metropolitan area in Israel, and encompasses the energy and future of the modern state of Israel. The “hill” represents the old, and the “spring” represents the new, and the Father of Zionism Theodor Herzl wrote about this metaphor in his book Altneuland. Tel Aviv is only 108 years old–brand new compared to the rest of the country.
Our trip began and ended in Tel Aviv, yet I was only truly able to appreciate what Tel Aviv symbolizes after our visit to Jerusalem. The energy of Tel Aviv represents the energy and optimism of the Israeli people, and moving forward into the future with hope. It is also a very fun city, and I throughly enjoyed it despite the sad fact my phone was stolen here on the last night (I am grateful I was able to at least recover my pictures!)
Here’s an overview of our last few days in Tel Aviv:
1- Talk with Gadi Ezra. Gadi is currently Legal Counsel for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Israel, and he is an LLM alum from NYU (!) Gadi spoke with us about his experience serving in the IDF (Israeli Defense Forces) and the difficult decisions he faced while serving in Gaza in 2008. Gadi emphasized how moral obligations to humanity call for higher standards than those laid out by the Geneva Convention rules of armed conflict. After sharing several anecdotes and asking us to think critically and honestly about what we would have done in his shoes, Gadi asked us to 1-question everything, 2-fight the urge to become cynical, and 3- remain hopeful as we continue to learn and engage with these issues as law students and future lawyers.
2- Visit to Independence Hall. Here, we were able to learn the story of the Israeli Declaration of Independence on May 14, 1948. On this day, the words of Theodor Herzl, the Father of the Zionist movement, played out– “If you will it, it is no dream.” We also listened to a recording of Israel’s first Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion (who ironically was Buddhist) declaring independence. Independence Hall is located in the first house in Tel Aviv which had been converted to an art gallery. Celebrations of independence were cut short the very next day, as the brand new state was invaded by its 5 Arab neighbors, marking the beginning of a perpetual state of war and unrest. Sadly, many Holocaust survivors died defending the new state.
David Ben-Gurion
3- Beit Ambousa. In 1991, the state of Israel airlifted over 14,000 Ethiopian Jews who were in danger because of their faith from Africa to safety in Israel. Since that time, the Ethiopian Jews have formed a special part of communities within Israel. We were able to visit an Ethiopian Jewish community outside of Tel Aviv called Beit Ambousa, where we learned about the history of the Ethiopian Jews as well as their modern struggles for racial equality within Israel. My favorite part of this visit was 1-learning about how Judaism came to Ethiopia in the first place (a love affair between King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba involving a series of riddles and a son named Menelik, who visited his father back in Jerusalem and returned to Ethiopia to rule) and 2-the delicious Ethiopian lunch we enjoyed inside the home of our gracious host, complete with dabo, teff, and injera.
Dabo and roasted chickpeas on the table…Blessing our host as she roasts coffee beansComponents of injera- teff, cabbage, lentil, potato. So delicious!
4-Graffiti tour of Tel Aviv. As a resident of Bushwick, I have developed an affinity for well-done graffiti, and Tel Aviv is rich with a modern graffiti scene. Below are some of my favorites from our walking tour:
This graffiti is done in braille–those who can see don’t understand it, and those who can understand it can’t see it. So many layers of meaning…These cartoon figures represent Israeli and Palestinian brothers. They embrace each other out of optimism, yet their backs are turned to represent the conflict.
This graffiti depicts a security camera depiction of the 1995 assassination of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin. It has remained in place without being painted over since 1995, a rarity in the graffiti world.“If I forget Jerusalem, it is because of New York”Every person in this mural died at the age of 27. (Being 27 myself, this was a bit unsettling…!). Each person also died of drug addictions fueled by depression, and the artist has placed an uncompleted version of himself at the end–signifying his own personal struggles yet alluding to the fact that he has found his way out of the darkness and does not belong in this group.Zim, our guide, explaining the message directed to us on the wall behind him. He explained there are “no hard feelings,” but Tel Avivians get annoyed with tourists in the same way New Yorkers get annoyed with tourists (haha).
5- My favorite dinner of the entire trip was at Racha, a Georgian (the country not the state!) restaurant in Tel Aviv. The owner explained the tradition of the Georgian blessing to us, which we conducted as a group and involved our NYU leader Mitch drinking an entire horn of wine! She was so fun and hospitable! Dinner ended in a dance party!
Sarah and me with Lili, the fabulous owner of Racha!
Just as the verse in Ezekiel describes, I was overwhelmed (in every sense) for 7 days by all Israel has to offer. With its vibrant energy and focus on the future, Tel Aviv was the perfect place to begin and end this “mas’a” (Hebrew for trek). I am so grateful to iTrek and our tireless student leaders Mitch and Hannah for allowing me and my fellow law students to experience and learn about the rich culture and history of Israel and Palestine. I am also so grateful for the friendships I am taking away from this trip, which I know will shape the rest of my law school experience in a positive way.
Bhargavi, Shreya, and me with Doron our amazing guide on our last night…I will miss these good people!I learned an incredible amount from Daniel, an Israeli law student who served in the Gaza war and traveled with us over the weekWe visited the Israeli law firm Meitar, where we learned a good deal about private law practice in Israel. Imagine my surprise when I saw this photograph in the conference room…I met this exact same couple while in Hoi An, Vietnam, last summer! The world felt like such a small place to me in this moment.Independence Hall, Tel Aviv
Our checkpoint on the way back to Jerusalem from Ramallah
“You should seek to understand before you seek to be understood.”
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Palestine. What do you think of when you read this name? Violence? A nation that has been shunned and forgotten by the modern world? Checkpoints and walls? Terror?
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Nothing stirs strong, visceral emotions and reactions from both sides quite like a discussion about the Palestinian conflict. Before I got off Facebook a few months ago, I would consistently see Pro-Israel and Pro-Palestine opinions pop up on my newsfeed. And I would grow frustrated. We as Americans tend to be misinformed and underinformed about this conflict. One reason I wanted to visit Israel with NYU Law iTrek was to look at this issue for myself, with my own two eyes, and further understand before I sought to be understood.
After spending a day visiting Ramallah in the West Bank and meeting with Palestinian Authority leaders and some locals, I understand a little more about this complex issue.
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But I now realize I’ll never fully understand.
Early Wednesday morning, we loaded our bus for the drive from Jerusalem to Ramallah. We arrived in the West Bank after passing through the checkpoint. My first impression–entering the West Bank definitely felt like leaving Israel. Palestinian flags and Arabic replaced Israeli flags and Hebrew. Our first stop was at eZone, a tech startup space supporting local entrepreneurs in Ramallah. Our local Palestinian speaker shared with us about how the tech industry is working to lower the 42% unemployment rate in the West Bank.
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I found out after the talk he had spent a year as an exchange student in Alabama! In his words, “I couldn’t stand it there at first, but then I grew to love it. I go back to visit every year now!”
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So why is the unemployment rate so high in the West Bank? And what is the West Bank exactly? The West Bank is the area of land just west of the Jordan River that was not included in Israel’s original 1948 boundaries, but has been occupied since Israel seized the land from Jordan in 1967.
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Israel occupies this land inhabited by Muslim Arabs known as Palestinians, and these Palestinians are literally trapped in their homeland. They must pass through checkpoints to leave the area, and have no voting rights. Not exactly good for attracting business and industry for economic development…
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In 1993, the Oslo agreement divided the West Bank into 3 parts- A territory (cities like Ramallah governed by the Palestinian Authority), B territory (areas outside cities that are governed by both PA and Israel), and C territory (all other areas outside the cities governed by Israel).
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This means a map of the West Bank looks like Swiss cheese, with the holes being Palestine and the cheese being Israel. Despite the agreement, the land continues to be disputed. To add to the tension, Israelis continue to move into the West Bank to establish “settlements,” pushing the Palestinians further into their “holes” and often confiscating property of Palestinians in the process. Since Oslo, the number of settlers has increased from 160,000 to 670,000.
Some settlements have been ruled illegal by the Israeli Supreme Court and have been condemned by the UN, yet some Israelis continue to move in for three key reasons–1) to claim the West Bank as part of the land promised to them by God, 2) to make a two-state solution less realistic by making the political map even more splotchy and pushing Palestinians away, and 3)to take advantage of the cheaper real estate prices and close proximity to Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.
We met with 3 high-ranking members of the Palestinian Authority, who shared their frustration with the settlements and on not being able to reach a two-state solution with Netanyahu. They lamented that Israel does not recognize the rights of Palestinians, and regard them as sub-human. One official told a story about an Israeli fighter pilot who was asked, “What did it feel like when you dropped a one ton bomb on the Palestinians?” His reply was, “The wing shook a little.”
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The Fateh party we met with is not to be confused with Hamas, the terrorist group elected to power in the Gaza Strip, which is another disputed Palestinian territory located in a different part of Israel. Hamas uses the anger and frustration many Palestinians feel about their sub-citizen status to fuel hatred and violence.
The leaders today shared that they were happy we could visit for ourselves and see that they were not the violent, irrational figures the media so often portrays. The people I met today seem concerned about protecting their people’s human rights and building better opportunities for Palestinian upward mobility in their homeland.
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Yet several of the locals we spoke with did not hold back in sharing their frustrations with the Palestinian Authority and its failures to adequately represent their interests. Corruption also continues to be an issue within the Palestinian government, adding to the perfect storm of Palestinian troubles.
The activist we met with over lunch shared her frustrations with us as well. A Palestinian cannot leave the territory without going through a checkpoint and risking losing their citizenship if they travel for too long or if their travel is not pre-approved. (“Every day I leave my house, I have to waste 45 minutes at a checkpoint, putting my life in the hands of an 18 year old soldier,” she lamented.) Palestinians have no voting rights, and the Israeli army is a frequent presence throughout all areas of the territory. Yet this activist said maintaining optimism is her primary tool to stay strong.
There is no easy solution.
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After the U.S.’s recent vote in the UN regarding the settlements (which was seen by many as not “standing with Israel”), Secretary of State John Kerry said Israel–under a single state solution–could either be a Jewish state or a democratic state, but not both. I was horrified to see on Facebook that someone I know called him and all Obama voters “anti-Semitic” for this rational comment. Here are my takeaways and why I agree with Kerry’s statement.
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Israel was formed to be a Jewish state. Considering the tragic and horrible history of the Jewish people, I believe it is appropriate and justified for the Jewish people to have a homeland where they will always be welcome. This is the beautiful country of Israel.
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But Israel is not now truly democratic– it rules the Palestinian people, yet does not give them voting rights. If Israel gives the Palestinians voting rights, then Israel will not be a Jewish state anymore, as Arab Muslim voters would then dilute and possibly outnumber Jewish voters. This is a catch-22, and rhetoric that typecasts those who try look at the issue realistically and rationally is extremely harmful.
I’m not ready to seek to be understood yet, as I’m still seeking to understand. But today, I did realize you can be pro-Israel and pro-Palestine. Every people has a right to self-determination. Every human has a right to freedom of movement and control of their own property.
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I hope a peaceful solution can be reached. In the meantime, I’m holding on to hope that we all learn to treat each other better here on earth.
The U.S. Constitution is bigger than your (unfounded) “fear.” Or so I hope.
Almost a week into Donald Trump’s presidency, I am beginning to realize this is worse than I feared. I was devastated following Trump’s electoral college victory, just like all the other “liberal snowflakes” out there. I randomly cried every day for about a week, and I got out and joined protest marches and rallies twice in the week following the election. Although the pain and fear of Trump’s plans for the U.S. were real, I found myself quietly hoping as I listened to the words so many moderates spoke that week.
“It’s not going to be as bad as everyone thinks.”
“He just said all that stuff to get elected…he’s not serious.”
“Give him a chance before you judge him.”
“He hasn’t even taken office yet, so why is everyone freaking out?”
While I thought his campaign rhetoric (particularly promises to build a giant wall along the Mexican border and ban Muslims and refugees from traveling into the country) was sickening, I found myself praying they were just empty (disgusting) promises made on the campaign trail to garner votes. The words enough were awful, but actions would be even worse. (There’s also the fact people actually voted for this, which I will address later…)
We are less than a week in, and his actions are “unpresidented.”
I have to admit that I am a fan of executive action when it benefits human beings and the greater good—examples include the Emancipation Proclamation (Lincoln) and DACA (Obama). However, now we are seeing what happens when the wrong person has the power to take executive action. It’s truly horrifying.
I still find myself grappling with the same question I found myself asking in the days immediately following the election—how can people I love and care about condone the beliefs and political platform that embolden actual racist, misogynist xenophobes who are out there? It has only gotten worse. Why can’t America, a nation built by immigrants, live up to the standard set forth by one of our earliest founders and leaders John Winthrop—“We shall be as a city upon a hill, the eyes of all people are upon us”? Why are so many Americans so willing to blame people of a different racial, ethnic, or religious background for our country’s problems? Which came first, the hate or the fear?
During a recent visit to Mexico City, I had the chance to get to know a blond-haired, blue-eyed, collared shirt-wearing Mexican guy (not that any of this is important, but I am trying to paint a picture). This guy often travels to the U.S. for work trips, golf trips, and to visit his sister (who legally resides in New York City). He is aware of how shocked Americans always are to learn he is “Mexican,” and found it humorous, until recently. He nows sees it as evidence of the deeply ingrained racial prejudices and stereotypes held by many. He also finds Trump’s rhetoric deeply offensive and dangerous, and he and others plan to boycott our country because of the pervasive hate that has found its way into our White House.
The bigotry perpetuated by so many Americans, which has found a voice and platform in Trump, is unacceptable. Our country is now being boycotted by other nations because of human rights issues. We need to wake up and stand up.
I’ve also reached an unlikely conclusion in the last few days—Trump is a unifier, but not in the way he purports to be. I have been thinking a lot about the Women’s Marches that took place around the nation and world this past weekend. While I did not participate for personal reasons, I found the pictures of marches that took place everywhere from NYC to Washington DC to Jackson, Mississippi, to Nashville to San Francisco to Paris to Bangkok to Nairobi inspiring and humbling, but also unsettling. Where were WE (white women) during the peaceful Black Lives Matter protests across the nation over the last few years, many of which faced heavily militarized police resistance? Where were we during the recent DAPL protests, and all the subsequent demonstrations against the government’s rape and conquest of Native American land?
I didn’t take this picture, but it spoke volumes to me
I attended a rally tonight in Washington Square Park to stand in solidarity with Muslims and Latinos in light of the Mexican wall order and impending Muslim travel ban executive order. I looked around, and many of the protesters were white like me. While I am so happy to see unity across race, socioeconomic status, religion, gender, sexual orientation, age, and ethnic lines, I am still deeply troubled because in a way, some of us are too late. I am humbled and afraid.
I am trying to maintain faith in our constitutional institutions, but the damage is already done. This bigotry was here long before Trump took office—he just gave it a vehicle and a voice. I take personal responsibility for not acting and speaking sooner in my own personal life. Many people (aka white women) feel threatened for the first times in their lives, and that’s a sign of privilege. So many others have been afraid of losing their hard-won civil rights for a long time. Yet Trump’s policies are still a reason to fight back. I hope the marches on Saturday were just a start. While I disagree with some of the rhetoric coming from the resistance movement (particularly from celebrities), we need to stay vigilant, uncomfortable, and humble. It’s just getting started.
a southern yankee abroad 
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