When I tell people about my Girl’s Empowerment Project, most cannot believe how much it costs to send these girls to school… It is Uganda after all. In a country that has so little, you wonder how anyone can afford to go to school! Since our girls are in boarding school, this project not only pays for their tuition, it also accommodates all their living needs.
To sustain one girl for one year costs roughly $1,000.
Yup. One thousand dollars. And this is why:
Tuition fluctuates, but is between $200 and $250 a trimester, and therefore $600 and $750.
At the beginning of each year, they are required to bring the following:
a mattress!
bathing bucket
towel
underwear
school uniform and sports uniform
shoes for school, shoes for sport, flip flops
lantern
sheets
pillow
blanket
mosquito net
trunk for their things, with lock
2 brooms (one to sweep outside, one to sweep inside)
a plate, bowl, cup, knife and fork
a peeing bucket (for nights)
sweatshirt or sweater (a “luxury” I believe they need)
required textbooks (these can be up to $25 each, and because of the lack of funding, they often share, making studying more difficult)
a notepad for each of their ten subjects
calculator
dictionary
an eraser
a certain number of pens
a certain number of pencils
a sketch book
colored pencils
cement (to continue building the school?)
printer paper
cornmeal
(If they don’t bring such things, they are sent home) Living necessities to be replenished each trimester:
toilet paper!
tooth brush
toothpaste
sanitary pads
soap for bathing
soap for laundry
fuel for lantern
tea
medicine (they all have ulcers, some have other conditions)
an allowance to buy snacks since they are only fed beans and cornmeal twice a day.
Medical: Since disease is a part of life in Uganda, it is common for the girls to need to go to the hospital to get treatment-which is unjustly expensive.
Holidays: Since the educational system allows one month holidays between trimesters, the girls that go back to their villages (which are often hours away) need money for transport to and from, plus an allowance to sustain them. Since a few of the girls have nowhere to go, or do not feel safe returning to their villages during their holidays, we rent out a hut for them to stay in. I’m sure there are many things I have left out. I just wanted to highlight the fact that because these girls have nothing and no one, this project supports them entirely. If they had to work, they would not be able to focus on their studies, and this project is about giving them a chance.
If you are willing and able, please consider donating (any amount) via PayPal to: dishywes@hotmail.com, or contact me for more information.
Imagine if in Oregon State (the size of Uganda), 25,000 children under the age of five died each year from preventable waterborne diseases... It would be an epidemic! Now, imagine if in Oregon, a rebel army abducted over 30,000 kids forcing them to be soldiers and sex slaves... Imagine you were one of these kids. Now that the twenty year war is over, a generation is left without parents, and trauma wounds too deep to understand. I've met these young people. They are resilient compassionate, hopeful and determined... if only given the chance. My project in Uganda focuses on a group of young females, all of whom were abducted and escaped. The aim is to begin by psycho-socially supporting them, and empowering them by sending them back in school. These girls stole my heart, and I hope they will impact yours too.
Alimo Joyce was shot in the leg during the war. The only family member she had after escaping captivity was her brother, who committed suicide shortly after. His wife disappeared one night taking everything they owned, and leaving Joyce alone and desperate. Though Joyce has had an incredibly hard life, she is still one of the kindest, and most genuine people I have ever met. Naturally shy, I have seen her confidence noticeably grow over just one year. Imagine what a lifetime of people believing in her could do.
"I don't know whether I am going to stay hungry or not. And I want to give thanks because you have brought us here, to a good secondary school in Uganda, and I thank God for that."
...
Limpe Grace is a strong, beautiful, and very capable young woman. In a letter she wrote me describing her life, she shared how her mother and father met in captivity, and that she was born in the bush of the War. During their time in the bush, her mother had three other children. In 2000, her father was killed, and a year later, her mother escaped-without Limpe Grace. After her mother left, Grace stayed in the bush for another two years before escaping and reuniting with her mother. “In that year, as a result of killing, looting, and doing other bad things, her mind got confused and she became a mad person. She doesn’t want to see her children around her, and keeps saying that she is going to kill us.”
"Auntie, my life was very hard. Even at our home there. Nobody is possible to help me. They just see me, ‘ah ahh let that girl just waste her time.’ Then I sit down and I think, how am I going to study? How am I going to stay in this world? Who is going to help me? Even I lose the hope. Maybe I am going to be poor until I die. So, my best thing is just to thank you.”
...
During the insurgency, Brenda's father was killed by the rebels. Her mother was later infected with HIV/AIDS, but didn't realize her condition until it was too late. When she died, Brenda was left with her grandmother who is now too old to care for her and her young siblings. With all that she has been through, Brenda is the natural leader of the group. Confident without even realizing it, and always the one to speak when no one wants to, she has so much potential, and I keep envisioning her getting into politics or activism.
“My life was hard. But now, I am looking forward to have a great future.”
...
Apiyo Scovia was left by her mother when she was only 2 weeks old. Her father, abducted by the rebels, never returned. When her mother finally did come home, she was very ill with HIV/AIDS and died soon after.
"For me, when I sat for my primary leaving examination, I even lost hope that I’m not going to continue with my studies because nobody is there to help me."
...
Akii Sarah was abducted by the Lord’s Resistance army in 2000 from her village. After escaping, her father died of AIDS and her mother, too sick, couldn't care for her. Upon sending her to school, some people in her village have tried to poison her out of jealousy. This makes it even more crucial to keep her in school.
“Auntie, I think that no one can help me like you. I thank God so that he give you more and more life in this world.” ... If you would like more information on this project, or if you are willing and able to donate, please contact me for more information. Love, Jenna
Given that today is International Women's Day, I thought this would be an appropriate topic. My project in Uganda focuses on the girl child. But why not the boys?! I get this question all the time. It’s not because I’m a man-hating separatist. In fact, it’s much the
opposite. 50% of Uganda’s population is under the age of 18, and if I still have any math skills left, that means 25% of
Uganda’s population is girls under the age of 18. In empowering girls, we strive
not to be better than boys, but rather we strive to be equal. Feminism has taken
on a negative connotation. But what is feminism really? It is the desire for
women to have equal human rights-as humans, period. With my girl’s project, we
are not aiming to only empower individuals solely, we are aiming to uplift a
nation. If 25% of the future population were to have the opportunity to be
educated, the country would begin to thrive economically and socially. This is
not just for us. This is for everyone.
So why else should we support the education of the Ugandan girl child?
-In many countries like Uganda, boys are innately born the superior gender. Thus opportunities
naturally are given to them. Often in Uganda, if a family can only afford to send one child to
school, they will inevitably choose the boy.
-Since dowry still exists in many communities like these, girls are often seen as property that one family sells to another
through marriage. Culturally, boys take care of their parents in their later
years. Thus, many families of girl children don’t see the need to educate the
girl child, since “she is just going to leave anyway.”
-If a girl is not in school, she is often seen as “eligible”
for marriage, regardless of her age, and her opinion.
-Because of the lack of reproductive health education in many parts of Africa, as well as the
stigmas surrounding condom use, and the patriarchal pressure that prevents
girls from having the right to refuse sex, many girls end up pregnant very young. This is one of the main reasons I chose to put my girls into boarding school.
-The role of women, especially in rural villages is much like what you
would imagine the role of women would have been 100 years ago in the States.
They are born with little option to stray from the duties expected of them. Women in the villages spend their days walking miles and miles to
fetch water and firewood. They tend the fields, digging and cultivating rice and corn. They take care of the chickens and goats, and make meals from scratch. They wash clothes in whatever water source
they can find. They are in charge of raising the village children. And generally speaking, and I hope I don't get poisoned for saying this, they need to be
available to sexually satisfy their men when expected. I’ve never met a more
harder-working and under-valued population. Such cultural expectations are one of the main reasons girls are not given the opportunity to go to school.
-If women are in charge of raising the children, imagine what an educated woman can do.
-A girl that is determined to go to school might be seen as “stubborn”
or “trouble” because culturally, many men might believe that such a girl is
trying to “overtake” them. Such feelings
of insecurity result in the emasculation that is often the root cause of
domestic violence in the home.
-Girls are human beings and deserve equal respect and
opportunity.
Why else do you think it's important to educate girls?
The fact is that although all Ugandans (and most Africans) are deprived of many of their human
rights, and are oppressed on a global level, Ugandan boys are still born with privilege and opportunity and
girls are simply not. They are the lowest on the chain, and it's about time things changed. Given that this has been 'the
cultural way' for generations, the solution as I see it is to focus on the
youth. The only way out of this oppressive cycle is through education. If we
empower the girls, and educate the boys on the importance of empowering their
female counterparts-beginning with supporting them getting an education, the
future of the country-and of our world,
will thrive.
“But Jenna! You’re white. Aren't you imposing your Western beliefs? …This is their
culture.”
Human rights are human
rights, period. Because I, (like many of you), was
circumstantially born into privilege. I believe that it’s my moral responsibility to use the rights I
was unjustly granted to empower those who were unjustly granted less to see-and
fight for their human rights too.
What do you think?
If you are interested in making a donation to support the education of one of my girls, you can do so via PayPayl: dishywes@hotmail.com, or message me for more details.
"Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much." -Helen Keller
It’s that time of year again. My girls in Uganda have just
begun their second year of Secondary School, and as you’ll read below, they are
happy and grateful for this opportunity in their lives. I too am grateful for
what they have done for me, and am constantly in awe of their selfless
compassion. All these girls were abducted at a very young age by Joseph
Kony’s “Lord’s Resistance Army,”
and all of them escaped. They have
little to no living family members, and are still the sweetest, most
kind-hearted individuals I’ve ever met. The chance for them to go to school
gives them hope for a better future, since the only alternative is to be
married off in their villages. With school being so expensive, (Boarding school
is roughly $1,000 a year!) it is rare that an average family living in poverty
sends their girls to school, since the opportunity-if there is one, is usually
only given to the boys. The reason I
chose to send them to boarding school
is because for the first time in their lives, all they have to do there is
focus on themselves, their studies, and their own well-being. Additionally,
since they are all at school together, they have built a support system within
each other; a community, a family. Since
I believe in being open and raw, I’m going to tell you that each semester we
struggle to find the funding to meet their needs. In a world where you can’t
trust so many charities and NGOs, I am telling you that you can trust us. I am
the only middle woman, and 100% of the money we raise goes directly to the
girl’s and their needs. I am in the process of creating a board, and
registering as an NGO (let me know if you would like to be involved in any
way), but until then, I’m calling on those of you who are willing and able to
contribute any small donation. A little goes a long way, and anything-I mean
anything would be deeply appreciated. Of course, if you decide you’d like to
sponsor one girl’s education-that would be okay too. ;) It’s hard to ask for
assistance, but I truly believe that if we all unite in whatever way we can, it
is possible to move mountains… one girl at a time.
Thank you so much. Apwoyo Matek.
Love, Jenna
…
Below are the letters I just recently received from the girls. There are only four letters because at the time they were
written, Melissa was in the hospital with pneumonia, and Joyce was sick with
influenza.
...
Hi Aunt,
This is just to inform you and give
thanks to you, and I want to tell you the school has begun well and its still
going on well.
Secondly I would like to remind you
that I am not felling so well and I want to give thanks for all what you have
done in my life.
Now you have made my life easy to look like other people’s children, thank be to you and your family and the
donors thirdly. I would like to tell you that my relative are proud seeing me
at school. Thank you for putting me in school.
I want to tell you that I am
missing you so much.
I don't have much to say only thank
you to you my dear lovely aunt.
Greeting to family and others who
have helped.
From APIYO SCOVIA TRACY
…
Oh my Aunti Hi
I such
a great blessing to me to have this opportunity to say the word of Hello to
you. And Aunti I believe that you are find and the family at large.
Now, I
want also you to know that schooling is going on well and am so grateful
because you have made me to look ahead that am so important and have a future.
Aunti, you have made my
grand mama very very happy and the family and Aunti you are now maber (good) to
me because the love you have shown to me and my friends no one can tell.
I now
praise God to have a good control of you and your family.
May God
Bless you too. (LOVE BRENDA)
Atimango
Brenda Ruth
…
Letter to Jenna
Sarah says
Auni I
want to thank you for your work you have done for us at the beging of 2013
Aunti
we also miss you and also we are going to pray for you and your dad also we are
going to pray for him so that he can also get quick recover and your family
member. So we are very happy for your work done congratulations
May God
bless you and your family and the people helping us.
From
your lovely daughter SARAH AKII
…
Dear unti
I am so happy to share with you with you in this piece of
paper. This just to greet you unty. How are you over there? Hope is okey. From
my side is okey. Everything is going well. But unty we are missing you unty
that is the only thing we are worry about unty. Bless you ad all your family
and I too. Lastly be bless by God. By Grace Okema
From left to right: Olympia Joyce, Akii Sarah, Me, Apiyo Scovia, Limpe Grace, and in front: Atimango Brenda. Achiro Melissa not pictured.
Donations can be made via PayPal: dishywes@hotmail.com. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and for considering helping in whatever way you can. One Love. -J
These curses we bare in life; the constant punches, these gaping holes… maybe
they’re all just blessings, testaments to our strength, sprouts in new
directions, part of the very plan in the first place...
I was supposed to come back to
the States for a maximum of 45 days. The Peace Corps was “concerned” that I was
“getting sick too much,” and forced me into a hiatus filled with what they
hoped would be medical appointments and “rest.” Though the list of what I
contracted during my 13 months in Uganda seems threatening, the reality is it
wasn’t that bad-and for one reason alone: I, unlike so many others, had the
privilege of treatment.
-Malaria three times. (Bringing my
total count to four).
-Schistosomiasis/Bilharzia. (Snail
eggs that burrow and reproduce, contracted from my bathing water).
-Intestinal worms. (No biggie, most
people get “de-wormed” every three months anyway).
-Brucelosis (A disease primarily
meant for cows).
I was constantly feeling sick, but
that comes with the territory, and I was hesitant to go home in fear that the Peace Corps wouldn’t let me come back. The person in charge of my medical leave looked me
in the eye and assured me that would not be the case.
After 45 days, and with the
additions of a hiatal hernia, esophagitis, and gastritis to add to my fancy
list, the Peace Corps board reviewing my case, like I thought they would, denied me permission to return to Uganda. They did however say that if I was
medically cleared by then, I could have the chance to “reinstate after 3
months.”
I was devastated.
I had left with only a week’s
notice. Needless to say, that was hardly enough time to organize my things, say
goodbye to the people that had grown to be my community and get my projects in
order. My only solace in leaving things the way they were... I would definitely
be back. Leaving my girls was the hardest. They were understanding, but the
guilt on my end was debilitating. Everyone else in their lives had left them,
and here I was, doing the very same thing.
Coming home was an experience heavy
enough on its own. People always warn you about the culture shock you’ll get
when moving or traveling to “third world” countries. No one ever talks about
how much harder the culture shock upon returning home is…
Everything seemed so fast to me. In
the airport, people rushed by without acknowledging each other, fewer smiled,
the toilet was filled with perfectly good drinking water, I spent too much
money, stairs moved, there weren’t cockroaches everywhere, everything was
pristine and crispy… It was hard now not to look at this Western life through
the eyes of the people I had just been living amongst and working with.It was like privilege was barfing
all around me, but no one knew they were sick. The atmosphere felt cold,
rushed, scattered, illusionary…
Of course I took glory in reuniting
with my family, and my friends. Living out there in a fishbowl, it was
comfortable to now be at home, surrounded by the people I love… less alone.
Though with guilt always hiding behind the curtains, I relished in taking
baths, eating out, washing my clothes in a machine, watching mindless TV,
walking around barefoot, driving a car, hanging out with friends... The list
was endless really, as it seemed like each day was filled with once
experienced, but entirely new adventures.
But I had just seen the world, the
reality of suffering and pain, the aftermath of war… This place now seemed like
Candy Land. Everything was exactly as I had left it… but me? I was completely
different. I am still struggling to find out how I fit in.
I fell into a deep depression.
Two weeks after coming home, I
found out my boyfriend had been cheating on me…
My depression worsened, and the
hole I had fallen into felt like it was swallowing me up whole.
I felt stuck in my situation and
didn’t know how to get out. Though in a pain of my own, I decided to focus on
reinstating…
Then, on a cold night, the one following Christmas, my Dad had his heart attack.
I came home from the store after
picking up the medication he needed after having an elective surgery that day,
only to find my mom on the phone to the doctor, and my brother Adam (who was
“randomly” visiting) trying to comfort my Dad. He was uncomfortable and in
pain-which was to be expected after any surgery. It was only when he stopped
responding to us that we knew something else was going on. The paramedics came
and told us he was having a heart attack. Afraid, but hopeful, since we had
experienced his first heart attack five years prior, we followed behind the
ambulance to the Emergency room. Only a few minutes after our arrival, they put
my mom, brother in I in what felt like a small jail cell, and told us just how
serious it was...
It turns out that his right
coronary artery was 100% blocked due to a complication with his surgery. It
seems as though we had arrived just in time. The first visit to the cath lab
was successful, but only an hour later, we go the news that it had happened a
second time, and once again, one of his main two arteries was 100% blocked.
They warned us about the dangers of going in again, and prepared us that they
would not be able to a third time. We stayed up all night counting the seconds
as they passed, each without a repeat episode. To the surprise of the doctors,
and with the help of prayers from family and friends, in addition to his sheer will, my Dad survived that first night. And I've never felt more grateful. But we were not out of the woods
yet. For the next ten days, Dad remained in a medically induced coma and on a ventilator in the
ICU. Seeing him like that was a new kind of hell I had never experienced, and
everything that I had been agonizing over for the past few weeks fell away into
the abyss, as nothing else in the world seemed to matter. The experience
brought my whole family closer together as Paul, Mandy, Alon, Adam, Robin, my Mom and I spent endless hours of the
nights and days living in the ICU. I talked to him, much to the annoyance of
the staff and some family members, for hours on end. I knew he could hear me,
and I needed him to believe he was going to be okay. When he started to
squeeze our hands, we knew that his brain was okay, and after endless tests and
a couple more procedures, learned that his lungs and kidneys were too. It
seemed as though life had given all of us a second-or even third chance. My Dad
woke up on the 2ndof
January, and I have never felt so full of life in my entire life. Still high on
drugs, he was making all of us laugh, and for the first time in a long time, it
felt like everything was going to be okay. We left the hospital on January 8th,
the day of my Mom’s 62ndbirthday.
When I think about the alternative outcome, I am brought to my knees with a
gratitude that is immeasurable by words.
Today my Dad is still in cardiac
rehabilitation, but has come farther in a shorter amount of time than anyone
could have ever believed or expected. Since my Mom had to go back to work, I
have become what they call the “primary caregiver." To me, I just feel lucky
and privileged that I get to spend the days with my Dad, most of the time just
me and him, going to doctor’s appointments and rehab, walking, eating, laughing
and learning.
I still don’t know how I’m going to
fit into this society, or what I’m going to do with myself once my Dad is fully
recovered. I don’t know if I should go back to Uganda, get a job here, move to L.A. for a fresh start with my brother, or go
back to school... I’m at a crossroads, a turning point in my life. I’m just now
learning how to break down the walls I’ve wedged myself between, and see that
maybe the path ahead of me is a multitude of paths, not the single one I’ve
already mapped out for myself. I’ve always known what to do next. I’ve always
known who I was and where I was going. Today, I’m not so sure. But maybe that’s
okay. Maybe, today, all I need to do is be here.
And maybe that’s enough.
Update on the Girls:
Though it is definitely more difficult to do from here, I am still involved on a daily basis with the girl’s project. My sister in Uganda, who also cares deeply for Joyce, Sarah, Scovia, Grace, Melissa and Brenda, has taken on the role of being my Ugandan coordinator and counterpart. She takes care of the logistics over there, so I know the girls are in good hands. They also know that no matter where I am, I’m always here for them. They understand why I need to be home right now, and I hope they understand that the decision to come back in the first place was not mine to make, but in the end, seemed to happen-like many things in life, for a reason.
Making small progress is the essence of Peace Corps. Nothing happens over night.
This was a lesson hard for me to learn, but is now one I have come to accept, and even embrace.
The girls have started opening up to me, proving that taking time to build a foundation of trust is an essential aspect of this work. Maybe that is why Peace Corps Volunteers serve for 2+ years…
It barely even seems like enough time.
I have been mysteriously ill for quite some time, and had to be in the capitol city, Kampala for almost an entire month. Thankfully, I returned to Gulu just in time for my girls’ visitation day. "Visitation day" happens once a term, and it is the only time family members ever visit their children at boarding school. Since my girls have little or no family, it is important that I am there to support them.
I talked to each of them individually for almost an hour a piece. This post is about my interactions with Olympia Joyce and Akii Sarah.
Joyce fearfully giggled, looking down at her feet, as she told me that there is something she had been aching to talk to me about… but that she had been scared to do so.
Of course, I thought she was pregnant.
She told me something that I had already known, yet she had not yet told me. When the Lord’s Resistance Army kidnapped her and she was in the bush, she had been shot in the leg. The bullet left a large and unfriendly scar that she clearly is very insecure about. She told me it made her feel “really bad about herself.”
So while I was waiting for her to tell me that she was pregnant, she sheepishly asked me if I could buy her some Vaseline...
She also assured me that she is a virgin.
Sarah was the most confident I’ve ever seen her. While I was there, we picked up her midterm results… and whereas last time she placed 95 out of 107 students, this time she placed 59th! …And this is the girl I had to beg to get into school because of her academic history, and poor test scores.
It was priceless seeing her proud of herself… She even joined the girl’s rugby team! Who would have thought?
…After we talked happily for a while, she nonchalantly brought up the fact that her mother had been poisoned. Why? Because a neighbor was jealous that Sarah was getting her school fees paid. (In a previous post, I talk about how Sarah was once almost poisoned for the same reason just months before). I could not believe it. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. It was my fault. She told me how her mom would now lie on a mat outside all day without moving.
After hearing that, I, being the wannabe psychologist that I am, said that it must be hard having to deal with what’s going on at home.
She said “Auntie, I forget about it all when I am here.”
...
(Update)
At Peace Camp I got a phone call from Sarah. The network was horrible out there, and I could not really understand what she was saying. I thought I heard "My mom is dying in the hospital," but she had said "My mom has malaria and is in the hospital." I asked her about how her mom has been since the poisoning incident. What did she say?
"Oh some people came to our house to pray... she is now okay."
I shake my head in disbelief. What do I say to that?
I have talked little about my health in this blog.Well here it is in a nutshell:I’ve had malaria three times (in Uganda), Bilharzia/Schistosomiasis (which basically means my body was infested with snail eggs as a result of bathing in dirty water), and intestinal worms (which I could actually see through my skin).Additionally, I have been experiencing some reoccurring symptoms throughout the past six months, which neither I, nor the Peace Corps have been able to get to the bottom of.
Peace Camp left me (and many others) feeling both emotionally drained, and physically sick. After experiencing such an intense week, where we were both emotionally and literally isolated from the outside word (including not having internet or phone access), adjusting back into “reality” was difficult.And as a result, my mysterious symptoms returned full-blown.Since I got in trouble for not telling Peace Corps when I had malaria the first time, I have consciously made an effort to keep them in the loop regarding my health.So I called them and told them what was going on…
The next morning, I woke up to a phone call explaining that Peace Corps has decided to “medically evacuate” me.This means that they would send me home (or to Washington D.C. presumably) for roughly a month to visit doctors and be medically evaluated.Yeah, a bath and some Mexican food sounds great… BUT my concern is as follows: Most people that are medically evacuated are not allowed back into country.And I am just not finished here.
So, as I am trying to process Peace Camp, and reacclimate back into my Gulu life, and my work at Aid Africa, I’ve now been bombarded with this on top of everything.They want me to leave “sometime this week,” and suggest that I pack as though I would “not be returning.”
So, in an attempt to stay in control of my own life, I have written to Peace Corps headquarters asking that they give me one month.During this month, I plan to take a proactive role in decreasing unhealthy habits, and focusing intensely on bettering my health.I will let you all know when I receive their response.
…
My phone keeps on ringing with unknown numbers.This is not necessarily uncommon as I swear people sell my phone number...I have been tired, sick, and in an introverted emotional state, so I haven’t wanted to answer… BUT, knowing that I gave my phone number out to about 80 people during Peace Camp, with a note, “I will always be here for you if you need someone to talk to,” I have been feeling obliged to pick up.
One of my shyest campers was excited to tell me that she facilitated a discussion within her family regarding their land disputes.
Another asked if we were still at camp because he wanted to come back.
Some are talking about starting their own “Peace Clubs.”
Most of them are asking me to send them photos.
And my particular favorite comes from a young man who proudly stated that he has “converted 30 people into peace pioneers.”
These are the moments that fuel my fire, and help me to realize that no matter how little it feels like it, I am indeed making a difference.
Day 7 of Peace Camp was a disaster.Cleaning up and getting the “kids” ready to go home was nothing compared to the issue of trying to get their transportation funds reimbursed.We were all tired and stressed, and unfortunately, this caused some issues amongst the staff.
Nonetheless, Peace Camp has hands down been my most rewarding experience in Peace Corps, thus far.
I want to thank those of you who have joined me on my reflective journey, and give a particular thanks to Kate Scurria for allowing me to use (some) of her photos.
If you are itching to see more, please check out my facebook album: “Peace Camp.”
Apwoyo matek, and may you be blessed on your journeys through this crazy thing called life as well.
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