South Mountain, Phoenix

Day 4: Apache Junction- Phoenix Arizona- The end of the journey

The morning of January 7th: Heather and Christi-Lynn "rise and shine" at 5:30 am with surprising vitality after yet another lovely night in the suburban. Why are they awake at this dark and windy hour? Why, to climb in the dark! The goal would be sunrise on the summmit, but as you will soon realize, the morning had much more in store for these intrepid hikers than even they could have anticipated. They made their breakfast in the shelter of the campground bathroom and then gathered their wits and their headlamps and headed off into the drizzly and black night.

The beginning of the trail lead through gently sloping desert terrain with a wide, well-groomed trail. After about one mile of this gentle terrain, they reached a sign that reminded them they were about to enter wilderness territory. They had an initial goal of reaching the basin, about 2 miles and 1000 feet of elevation, with hopes of reaching the actual summit, another 1 mile and additional 800 feet of elevation. As they continued to climb, the well-groomed trail gave way to- shall we say- no trail? It seems that the well mannered rangers of arizona are loathe to violate their wilderness with too many blazes. Indeed, Heather and Christi-Lynn were often at a loss to see, as the dark lifted- where exactly they were supposed to go. They found themselves staring curiously at patches of white on rocks- is it lichen? is it paint? what might it mean, if it is a blaze?

Somehow they continued to follow the canyon up, eventually reaching the basin, an area where one could imagine large volumes of water flowing out towards phoenix in a heavy rainstorm. Never ones to enter lightly into adventure, they re-checked their map and noted that "average" hikers were cautioned to not hike beyond the basin. This left Heather and Christi-Lynn with a difficult question- are they average hikers? or are they- Above Average?

Needless to say, they continued on. As they did, day light was upon them but it became very clear that there would be no sunrise on january 7th. The clouds and fog grew thicker around them as they struggled over the large boulders, the rain grew heavier, and the wind grew stronger. At times they seemed to be climbing straight up, using their somewhat rusty rock-climbing skills (and firmly ignoring the question: How Will We Ever Get Back Down?)

They climbed up and up, the rain fell harder and harder, and the wind blew, sometimes pelting their faces painfully. At 8:30am (which they had set as their turn-around time) they crested over a last, painful, vertical cliff--- to see further climbing ahead of them. Even worse, they were not even sure how much further the summit might be. Admiting to each other that there would be no hope of any view, that the rain would only get worse, that the arizona rangers most likely had not marred their landscape with something as tawdry as a sign announcing the summit, and that they had a long, hard descent ahead of them, they posed for the obligatory photo and turned back.

They made it safely, and slowly, down the worse of the vertical drops, and then began to descend into the first canyon. As they neared the bottom, they noticed several attractive waterfalls- that had not been there before. The slight trickles of water that they had encountered on their way up the mountain were now majestic streams, pouring through the canyon. Both Heather and Christi-Lynn realized- the basin could be horrible! by this point both of them were soaked to the bone, and their boots were soaked. As they entered the basin , the waterflow was luckily not as bad as they had feared, and they were able to creep their way down bracing themselves in cracks, ankle-deep in the water.

At 10:30, they finally found themselves back in the campground, shaking and shivering. Hot showers, dry clothes, and hot chocolate solved the chills and Heather and Christi-Lynn said goodbye to the Lost Dutchman state park as the sky became blue and the clouds lifted. Heather dropped CL off in downtown phoenix to seek her fortune at a youth hostel, and Heather took off with fellow med-student Jane in tow for the blizzards of northern Arizona and Tuba City.

Day 3 "We search for sunshine..." Blanding, Utah to Phoenix Arizona

Another cozy night in the bedroom on wheels ended with the startling realization that the rain and sleet of the previous night had turned into...two inches of snow. More of which was falling, might we add. Faithful readers, you might ask why this meagre display of winter would disturb two such women as these, used to hard winters of shoveling cars out of snowbanks and sub-freezing temperatures. In the words of CL "I DID NOT pay to come to the SOUTHWEST for SNOW." There you have it. It took approximately five seconds to decide to drive on to flagstaff, where Heather and CL were hoping for sunnier skies and hiking delights. After a delicious breakfast cooked in the warmth and comfort of the gas station bathroom (unanimous decision that using a propane stove in the suburban would be a BAD idea), they filled up with high quality diesel and drove on. They gazed sadly over the fog and ice-filled glen canyon but knew that (in heather's case) she looked forward to eight weeks' worth of weekends to explore the canyon from her new placement in Tuba City.

Not far out of Blanding, route 163 entered Monument valley. The amazing formations jutting out of the plateau against the cloudy blue sky made the drive something of a wonder, and lead christi-lynn to attempt to take pictures leaning out of the window of a the moving vehicle (with seatbelt on, of course). The road lead onward to Tuba City and then onward to Flagstaff. Not far out of Tuba City snow started to fly. Then the fleets of plows came out, spewing salt and gravel every which way. By the time the hearty suburban reached Flagstaff, it was clear that there would be no hiking done that day- Heather and Christi-Lynn made another command decision- south until sunshine. Somewhere south of flagstaff, the mighty suburban began to demonstrate some (ahem) signs of engine discomfort. Quick consultations with all of Heather's relatives familiar with diesel vehicles brought the solution- adding some magical juice to the gas would relieve the discomfort caused to the engine by ascending and descending thousands of feet in a short period of time.

The descent into Phoenix brought with it the hoped-for sun, a lower elevation, and balmy temperatures in the 50's. Lovely! On recommendation from C-L's family members they headed to Apache Junction and the Lost Dutchman State Park, at the base of Superstious mountain. Heather greeted the Saguaro cacti with wonder (this being her first experience in the desert)and they took a sunset walk on one of the parks' shorter trails. A last check-in with CL's mom left them with these parting words: "Don't climb in the dark, christi-lynn. It is dangerous!" What a fun idea! Climbing the dark. CL was thankful that she has a mom with these wonderful ideas, and the two immediately made plans for a pre-dawn summit of Superstitious mountain.

Day 2: Moab, Utah to Blanding, Utah

Who would have guessed sleeping in the back of a suburban could be so restful? After 10 hours of shuteye in the quiet and comfort of their very own bedroom on wheels, Heather and Christi-Lynn opened their eyes to overcast skies and buffeting desert winds whetting their appetite for adventure. First things first, though- where would they find wireless internet to send word home to their beloved family and friends of their trip? Miracle of miracles, the Texaco station itself had wireless- and coffee! What fun! After getting some hot water from our new friends at the Texaco station for oatmeal, we ate breakfast and cruised back down the strip in Moab to find Arches National Park. We entered the park after a great debate about whether to get an annual National Parks pass or just pay daily the entrance fee (the same for a suburban or a Hyundai, interestingly enough). However, the friendly woman ranger reassured us that we had 14 days to change our minds and could apply our entrance fee from today at any park when an annual pass was purchased. We drove along the windy road to the north end of the park, deemed the devil’s garden. Praying for the safety of our souls, we embarked on a loop trail with a goal of seeing 7 arches. Christi-Lynn soon found that her short legs were no match for Heather’s long stride- she gasped and wheezed trying to keep up with her energetic friend.
5 hours, many welling-up-within-one’s-soul moments, multiple pictures, some slippery moments on “surprise ice,” hundreds of peanuts and raisins, 7 arches, and 8 miles later, we emerged from the trailhead, feeling like we had truly earned our dinner. But then the question arose, where to? We swept our boots off with the brush on Mr. Burban’s bumper and set forth down Moab’s strip once again, continuing along on 191 through canyons, spotty cell phone service, and rain/snow on the high points. With a “phone-a-friend,” we checked the weather and received suggestions on camping in our next destination, Blanding, Utah. We heard there was a Kampark with tenting sites (i.e. sleeping in the back of Mr. Burban/our bedroom) and wireless. After driving the strip in Blanding, Heather stated, “I think I saw an office sign on the Shell station.” Yes, it was true- another campsite behind a gas station. After checking in with the gas attendant, Heather and Christy-Lynn pulled up to their campsite in the rain and looked at each other. After much debate over their status as hikers/backpackers, they decided to go to the Old Tymer Restaurant for a hot dinner and hopefully free wireless. Thus, we find our happy and full travelers, eager for another night in their bedroom behind a gas station. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Snow that forces our adventurers south into Arizona or yet another day in Utah before turning to the south?

Day 1- Denver CO to Moab, Utah

It was a bright and windy day in Littleton, CO, when Heather Anderson and Christi-Lynn Brown set out on their quest to seek adventure in the canyons and wilds of Utah and Arizona. Prepared for anything with two-weeks' worth of food (for their three days of travel), an atlas, and the biggest vehicle known to man (not really, but it seemed that way) they left the warm beds and hearty food of Heather's relatives and roared off (of course, the suburban DOES have a mighty diesel engine) towards I70. Threats of avalanches not-withstanding, they feared little (except for Christi-Lynn's fear that Heather would refuse to stop and let her pee until they reached Grand Junction- this proved to be a valid fear, as grand junction found CL rocking and moaning in the passenger seat begging for a bathroom, any bathroom) and expected much out of these few days in the southwest.
After failing to spy the bright beacon of Wal-Mart to acquire some fuel for the stove, a small sign kindled the fire of hope within Christi-Lynn and Heather's hearts. REI. There had to be a bathroom, fuel, and perhaps even maps to facilitate the planning of this adventure in the Southwest (Planning? Who plans?). After the acquisition of fuel, use of the bathrooms, and frustrations with the maps, they set out once again, crossing into Utah, and soon exiting on Rt 128. Heather's heart filled with pride as they saw the sign (paraphrased): Narrow winding road with open range cattle. Moab 46 miles. This was the moment that the suburban was made for with its grill guard, diesel engine, and large brush on the back bumper to prevent mud-slinging. 46 miles, amazing views (at least by daylight, they were sure), and many bright stars later, they entered Moab.
The lights of Moab filled their adventure-loving hearts with thrill--or was it the looming shadows reaching into the sky that signaled-possibly--the mountain hiking they craved? (these shadows were not, as Christi-Lynn had first feared--the resting shapes of brontasauri and t-rex--mind you, it had been awhile since she had visited the southwest) As they cruised the Moab strip in their roaring beast of a vehicle, they reveled in the bright lights of fast food and motels. But the question begged to be asked: where would they sleep on their first night in the desert? Would it be a secluded pull-off, a back-country camping spot beneath the utah mountains?
Their weary eyes were finally drawn by this beacon of hope: "CANYONLANDS CAMPGROUND!" Nestled behind a texaco station, with the lights of the strip playing friendly games with their tired eyes, they found a welcome resting spot.
Curled up for the night in their sleeping bags in the back of the suburban, they were thankful that they had been protected from avalanches, roaming dinosaurs and sleeping in the shadowing back parking lot of the burger king--and they anticipated a great day of hiking in Arches the following day.

Ngakitalo Nyo

A few months ago the husband of our neighbor died. I arrived home from work to find my host sisters preparing to go next door in order to sit with the family. I had not experienced the death of a family member or neighbor before, but I was expected to go along to express condolances. As I walked over with Sarah, she instructed me on the niceties of attending a burial. The title of this posting is "ngakitalo nyo." This is the phrase you greet everyone with at a burial or mourning, or what you greet someone with who has recently lost someone close to them. I asked my family (and later friends and coworkers) to translate this phrase for me but none of them were able. They said it is much stronger than "I'm sorry," and conveys something really heavy, a kind of dread. It somehow is expressing sorrow, fear, mutual sadness. The fact that it is said to everyone attending a burial (not just family) seems to signify that we are all similarly affected by loss.

As we entered the yard of our neighbor, we greeted each person we met with "ngakitalo nyo." We entered the living space to find the family and friends seated around the perimeter of the room, the coffin in the center. In buganda fashion, each of us too turns greeting each present with ngakitalo, and then proceeded with the rest of the greeting. "Eradde, Eradde." You are welecome. "Osibiyotano?" How has been your day? "Jabale Ko." Thanks for the work you are doing. The strange thing thing for me was that each person responded to the greeting with "balungi." It is good. I am good. Everything is fine. Even as the widow was sobbing and holding a handkerchief to her face, she answered that she was fine. There is not a negative response in the language structure.

It is common during the wake, the night before the burial, for friends and family to stay the night with those who are grieving. This places a significant financial burden on the grieving family as they are expected to provide tea and food for those in attendance. As such, some mourners bring supplies to offer to the family in attempt to lessen some of that burden.

We did not spend the night with our neighbors, but even as we were leaving a few hours later, more friends were arriving and chairs were being set out. It would be a long night for the family.

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I have left Uganda. It has been one week, and in those seven days I have experienced some emotions not dissimilar to those of one grieving any other loss. For the most part I have been numb and ambivalent--not missing Uganda (the memories of work and the last struggles are still too fresh for that), not really happy to experience the joys of America, anxious about all of the story telling and reunions ahead of me. I anticipate that I will wish at somepoint soon to go back to Kampala. I will probably be angry with myself, with circumstances that change and with my own decisions. I will question where I am now, and where I have been, and where I am going to be next year.

It has been good to share a few days with those other forty-odd people also returning home from their year of service. We compared notes on our goodbye-celebrations with our host communities, compared the myriad of odd and wonderful gifts we were given, and compared fears and aprehensions about returning to school, work, or job-hunting.

The heaviness expressed in Ngakitalo is the heaviness of my heart. How can I express in words what it has meant to share the lives of my friends and coworkers for the last eleven months? What can I say to try and convey the honor of witnessing life and death in places where most are not priviledged to go? How can I move on from this year in way that honors what God has done in my life, but also honors the fact that in the totality of the life he calls us to, there are no compartments or categories? My service will continue, the services of those at Mengo HIV clinic will continue. I return to Norwich VT to try and become part of that community as myself, but changed. God has called us to serve him in the place we are, right now, today. I was asked at somepoint in my year what it felt like to make a difference. My response was confusion--I did not feel that this year was making more or less of a difference than my years of nursing previously. I was just in a different location. God will call some of us to serve him in international settings. He will call some of us to serve him in Boston. Washington DC. Rochester, NY. Norwich. How will we answer that call, and how will we serve him today?

I will be asked many times (and this is an OK question), as I have been asked many times already in Uganda--when and if I am "going back." I cannot answer this question fully, but as Eric took to telling people in Uganda, "God knows." And as I told my friends, "You pray." So my only answer right now is this same response--that I will be praying, and waiting for God's direction.

Today I will enjoy the hot showers, the company of good friends, and cheddar cheese. I will be praying for those I love in Uganda, and those I love here. Tomorrow--? Who knows? I pray that I will be open to the service God has for me, and willing to do His work.

Peace

From Goodbyes to Hellos

First Thoughts from the USA

Folks, this will be rough, but I feel the need to record some thoughts a mere 30 hours after my reentry yesterday.

I was walking around the neighborhood surrounding MCC in the wee hours this morning (jet lag woke me up at 3:30, and refused to give me rest) and was astounded by the silence. I couldn't see any people! The houses seem really far apart, the lawns huge. The cars in every driveway are very shiny. And none of the plants growing are edible.
I don't see any animals--no dogs or cats even.

The streets are so wide, and smooth. The sidewalks are neat--no trash. Cars go so fast, and I am the only pedestrian (alright, so maybe this is normal at 6:00AM). Imagine my relief when I finally passed, around 7:30, a woman setting up a small stand to sell tomatos in her yard. I was worried about what everyone was going to eat! You have to walk at least seven blocks from MCC to find even a very small grocery store.

Mostly, I feel alone walking. WHen I finally pass another walker, and then two women jogging, they say hi and move on. There aren't any kids greeting me, no one yelling.

This alone-ness puzzles me because I have spent so many many hours over the last year wishing for anonimity and privacy on my early morning ventures--and now that I have it it feels bizarre.

I had to go to a department store this afternoon to pick up some things (my luggage has delayed--I think it didn't want to leave east africa!) and one other returnee and I had a small crisis in the shampoo aisle. Too many products! The bottles are so big--it seems excessive to have that much shampoo for one person.

Right now my stomach hurts because I have had ten servings of fruit and vegetables today. Apples! Lettuce! Broccoli! Orange oranges! (ours in uganda there were green oranges). The food is amazing here.

Can't think of anything else interesting. Perhaps I'll get some sleep and see the world through newer eyes tomorrow.

Love to you all!

Ah, another chance to play the fool...

So last Saturday, after returning quickly from Bwindi, I was excited (thrilled, amazed, filled with wonderment) at the opportunity to attend one more Introduction (Kwanjula) ceremony before I leave this blessed country.

Once again I found myself at the mercy of my host sisters, who for lack of better supplies, wrapped my body in bedsheets and garbed me with Sarah's bisuti (which is eight inches longer than I am tall) and shod me with Sarah's high-heeled shoes (I have conveniently misplaced my own "smart" shoes to avoid having to wear them anywhere).

Because this is Uganda, it didn't seem to be a problem that we arrived at the introduction six hours late, just in time for the food. To make things better, it had been raining all day, so not only was I just navigating the normal terrain of Kampala in the bisuiti, but mud and mud puddles--trying to keep fifty pounds of dress out of this mud. The best part was trying to carry food and drink, while still managing the dress situation. This required me to bend over at the waist, clutching yards of fabric between my elbows and balance the soda on my head. Just kidding.

Since Saturday though, many unexpected people have been commenting on seeing me at the Introduction. None of them greeted me there--apparently they were just enjoying the spectacle that is me in Uganda. I knew I heard laughter from the in-law section.