6/5/09 – MBARARA, UGANDA

I was frustrated today. Maybe mostly with myself. Though I was more so in the end than the beginning. I guess, when all was said and done, much...some of it...could be calked up to missed expectation. I was warned about that. I warned myself about that... I guess, in hearing about Words of Hope, I thought maybe I would be DOING something. I thought I was going to be expending my energy, investing in something. And I didn’t. I waited 45 minutes to get to location (the wait itself didn’t bother me as much as I was eager to be about something, getting my hands dirty) to follow very seven very excited women around to stare at them as I met in their homes. I honestly don’t know what I was supposed to be doing. My translator was originally assigned to another project group for the day and was as confused as I about what was going. With no basis, she provided little insight. I was interested in the projects but we had already heard all about them. I had few questions and a hard time trying to make some up. As we did home visits, my partner asked about number of rooms in the home and kids in the family. I honestly didn’t care. Not about rooms or even really kids. What difference did it make to those ladies and what difference did it make to me? But, I no more knew what I was supposed to care about. I wanted what I was doing to matter. I couldn’t tell what impact the experience was having on me or anyone else for that matter. Later, I was asked for e-mail address by kids I had never met and whose names I demanded before I would write mine down. (Something the would never use as very few if any have internet access, let alone e-mail addresses) My presence made no more difference in their life than that of a celebrity. If I met Barak Obama and got his autograph (which is what I felt I was giving out) the most I would have gotten out of the deal is a signature and a story with which to impress my friends. I’m at a point where I love Uganda, so much. But if I am going to be here, I want it to mean something. I want something to care about. I want to do more than continually take in information like a glutton and have no where to process or to feed out into from all of the things I am taking in. So I’m frustrated. Maybe mostly with myself. And I am not quite sure what to do next.