Witness Your World

Heart Lag

2011-06-05T04:24:00.000-07:00

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” Marcel Proust

I am finally home in Bend, Oregon. Uganda is some 9000 miles away. The entire trip barely seems real. If not for the unpacked bag of dirty clothes sitting on my floor and my inability to sleep past 4 am, I might think I dreamed the whole thing. My re-entry was smooth. After traveling for 30 hours, I showered and went to my son's lacrosse game. The next day, I made breakfast, drove the kids to school, ran errands, and went to an art opening. On Day 3, I went to the farm with every intention of gardening and prepping the yurt for yoga camp. Instead, I crawled into a cozy hammock. Once I allowed my body to slow down, the exhaustion finally caught up with me and I fell asleep beneath snow-capped mountains and clear blue skies. I slept for an hour before going home, getting in bed, and sleeping for another 14 hours. The physical jetlag can be cured that easily. The emotional jetlag is another thing entirely. Sleep doesn't cure that. It is one thing to travel from time zone to time zone, from place to place. It is another thing to travel within one's own heart. In Uganda, I discovered new landscapes within myself. The BPU crew and Building Tomorrow led me further down the path of inspiration and joy; at Shanti and LiA, I explored strength and courage; and at New Hope, I allowed myself to go into the tangled underbrush of loss, pain, and helplessness. All of these people, places, and experiences expanded my personal landscape. What an amazing gift---personal expansion. How do I begin to repay that? What do I have to offer in return? How do I pay this forward? So many questions. I hope the answers will come soon. Maybe another nap will help...

Blinded By the Light

2011-06-01T01:56:00.000-07:00

"As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same." Marianne Williamson

We spent our last two days of the trip working with the children at New Hope School & Orphanage. When I met these same children last year, I made a commitment to return and to try to find ways to make their lives a little brighter. I am glad to have made good on the promise to return. I only wish I could say that things seemed brighter when I got there. Over the past year we've provided bed nets, new uniforms, school supplies, and a new well. These things may make day-to-day life a little easier, but not necessarily brighter. The first day of our visit left me with the same heavy feeling that I carried away from there last year---a weight right in the center of my heart.
On the second day of our visit, we brought some new friends along from Breakdance Project Uganda. I watched as these young, cool B-Boys from Kampala connected one on one with the children who live in this small rural orphanage. They made them laugh, played games, performed for them, taught them breakdance moves, encouraged them to teach each other, and inspired them to perform. As I watched, I felt the weight begin to lift and the light come in. In yoga, we end each practice with "Namaste," which means the light in me sees and recognizes the light in you. I saw the light at New Hope. The BPU crew have promised to continue working with the children at New Hope, spreading the light through music and dance.
All I can say is NAMASTE!!!!!!

2011-05-29T12:02:00.000-07:00

"Life is not a journey to the grave with the
intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body,but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming -- WOW-- What a Ride!"

We rafted the Nile today. I had intended to sit this one out. I reasoned that one time down the Nile in one lifetime was enough. I should know myself better. There was an adventure to be had, there were other people ready to enjoy it, and I did not want to be left standing on the shore safe and dry. All I can say now is, "WOW--What a Ride!" After a series of class 4's and 5's, I felt both exhilarated and exhausted. My body was full of adrenaline, fear, Nile water, and probably a few parasites. I was ready to get my feet back on solid ground.

It is hard for me to find my solid ground here i Uganda. I feel like I am being carried on a fast current. Everyone talks about Africa time as moving so slowly. For me, it is moving at warp speed. I have been looking forward to this trip for so long, basically since the day I left Uganda 15 months ago. Now I only have 2 days left. I have no idea what comes next. When will I be able to return? Where is all of this leading me? All I can do is hold on tight and enjoy the ride. What a ride it is.....

xo, Amanda

There's No Place Like Om

2011-05-28T11:35:00.000-07:00

"Women are Motherland."
Shanti Teen

Shanti means Peace. Tonight, I am marinating in it. We've spent the past two days at Shanti Uganda, an eco birth center in a rural village in Luwero District. Last year we stomped mud, plastered walls, and laid bricks. To coin a birth phrase, which seems perfectly appropriate at Shanti, we were here for the hard labor. This year we got to see how much our beautiful baby has grown up. We sang and danced with the HIV+ Women's Group in the round house that we built. I got to reconnect with Bubeeri, the shy sparkly-eyed woman who had invited me into her home for dinner last year and Janet, the young nurse who had been present at the birth I attended in a different clinic. Familiar faces are such an incredible gift when you are so far from home.

Today, I got to teach yoga to groups of teen girls who are participating in the Shanti Teen Program which I am honored to be sponsoring. I love knowing that these young women will be nurtured and supported by the Shanti community and will have mentors like Bubeeri and Janet. The teens asked to make Women's Rights shirts. We provided the paints, they provided the slogans. I hope the slogans they wore today on their shirts will forever be imprinted in their hearts:

"Women Are Needed"
"Women Are Beautiful"
"Women Are Strong"
"Women are Motherland"

I have reached the motherland. Om Shanti, Shanti. XO, Amanda

2011-05-26T12:30:00.000-07:00

And when we think we lead, we are most led.
~Lord Byron

I must agree with Lord Byron on this one. Whenever I think I am in control, the universe has a funny way of reminding me who's really in charge. My dad will be surprised to hear me admit that it isn't me. I have been planning this for a year now. I have coordinated service projects, created itineraries, and dreamed of leading this return trip to Uganda. Here I am in Uganda with 10 other people and instead of feeling like a leader, I feel led---led by my heart (because surely my head would have booked a vacation on a sunny beach somewhere). Of course, I really believe my heart is only the co-pilot. I have faith that God is also at the wheel. Each time I start to question why I am here, I have to look no further than this dynamic duo. Despite riots, outbreaks, and the threat of severe abdominal distress, I have been led back to Uganda. I sometimes wonder whether my navigational team really knows what they're doing. I question the universe, I question myself, I question everything. My personal mantra becomes "why". Why me? Why here? Why now? Why not Hawaii? The answers come from the people and projects we work with here in Uganda: the teen mothers who are receiving vocational training at Life in Africa & the children who are attending the daycare center we funded there; the students who will study inside the beautiful school we started building last year for Building Tomorrow & eat from the garden we planted yesterday; and the B-Boys and B-Girls who have popped, locked, and spun their way into my heart forever. These are the sparks that reignite my faith and lead me on. These are the true trip leaders in this adventure. I am just going along for the ride, and oh what a ride it has been....

Chindi Chindi

2011-05-22T22:19:00.000-07:00

"It is for us to pray not for tasks equal to our powers, but for powers equal to our tasks..." Helen Keller

My friend Jenny sent me that quote as a send-off. It popped into my head tonight as I was trying to follow Derreck, my 11 year old teacher from Breakdance Project Uganda. "You came back", he half said half asked when he saw me. I told him I was determined to learn some of his moves. He didn't hesitate to start teaching them to me. We threw down some top rope and added some footwork (I'm even learning the lingo). Then we went down to the floor. That's usually where all the fun acrobatic stunts take place.I suddenly felt unprepared for the task. I knew going to the practice tonight would challenge me, would stretch my comfort zone as well as my hamstring muscles. I get very self-conscious when people see me dance. I feel exposed for the white-n-nerdy yoga teacher i am. I looked at Derreck, this kid was taking his time to share the gift of his teaching with me. I had to find the powers to receive it. I mangled some of his smooth moves, but I managed to pull off a tiny freeze, basically a long hold arm balance, thanks to my yoga practice. Once I stopped judging myself to be this or that, I realized that I am what I am. Abramz taught me to say it, :"Chindi Chindi." I am a white-n-nerdy lacrosse mom yoga teacher b-girl in Uganda. I got the power for ail that. I don't have to stand on the sidelines watching other folks dance. I can throw my moves into the mix. I've got the power. Chindi Chindi.

School's in Session

2011-05-22T10:24:00.000-07:00

"We are all students and we are all teachers." Abramz Tekya

My first day in Uganda. I traveled 30 hours to get here. Fortunately, I have found the perfect cure for jetlag---inspiration. Just as I was beginning to feel the overwhelming urge to nap today (2:00 am Oregon time), I willed my eye lids to remain open while I met with a young Ugandan B-Boy by the name of Abramz Tekya. I am ready to testify that inspiration is better than Red Bull. As I listened to Abramz discuss his dream of empowering Ugandan youth through breakdance, I felt myself becoming energized. When he asked if we'd like to see his program in action, all thoughts of napping were gone. Jetlag VS. Breakdance Project Uganda....no contest. I hopped in a cab and went to my first ever breakdance battle. WOW. I saw empowered youth. I saw inspiration in motion. I saw passion & purpose come together and dance. Afterwards, I got to meet my first B-girl, a teenager named Remy. She taught me a few moves. When she said I was a good student, I felt so proud I could hardly contain it. I remembered something that Abramz said at lunch, "at Breakdance Project Uganda, we believe that we are all students and we are all teachers." I added a few important names to my list of teachers today. I learned so much more than a few dance moves.

Peace out y'all.
Bayou B-Girl

A Rose by Any Name

2011-05-20T07:03:00.000-07:00

"I like people who teach me things." Rose Allen Kraft

I believe in signs. I see them everywhere. I like to think God sprinkles little breadcrumbs for us to follow, but most of us rarely take the time to notice them. One day about 5 years ago, I was driving down a dirt road in Tumalo, Oregon when God sent me a sign I couldn't ignore. I stopped in front a view that took my breath away. I could feel my heart expand to take it in. I called Jeff and said I'd found our dream property. Never mind that it wasn't for sale, never mind that we couldn't afford a farm. I believed in the sign, and oh what a sign it turned out to be. Rose Allen Kraft was nearing 90 when we first met her and asked whether she might like to sell us her farm. It was love at first sight. Rose and her late husband had been teachers who took year-long sabbaticals and traveled the world. She taught school in Afghanistan, wrote the Ugandan Girl Scout's Manual, and most recently traveled along the Siberian Railroad at the age of 92. She became my role model, my surrogate grandmother, and one of my true soul mates. Grandma Rose passed away a week ago today. At 94, she decided she'd had enough. As I embark on my journey back to Uganda, I can feel her presence urging me onward, "God gave you wings so you could fly," she once told me. She also reminded me that Jeff is the one who tends the nest while I am away. So I am flying away and Jeff is home tending the nest, which now includes the 40 acre Rose Allen Ranch where I received one of the greatest God-given gifts of my lifetime, Rose. I dedicate this trip to you, Rose. Thank you for teaching me so many things.

Roseisms...
I never kicked a door down, but if it was open, I walked through it.
Don’t judge a culture by their plumbing.
I’m long suffering, but when I’ve had enough, you know it.
There is great wisdom among all people...seek it out.
Love everyone – don’t leave anyone out.

You Gotta Have Faith

2011-05-18T11:06:00.000-07:00

" I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be." Douglas Adams

As a yoga teacher, I often tell my students to set intentions. As a mother, I often tell my children to act with good intentions. As a person, I often think, "that was not my intention at all." There was a time in my life when I seemed intent only on reaching total self-destruction. I thank God everyday that I didn't get there. So, how did I get here instead of there? Who set this intention for my life? Who's driving this car anyway? God, My Higher Self, My Guardian Angel, some haloed stunt car driver? I don't have a definitive answer. I think that's where faith comes in. Though I may not be where I intended to be, I have faith that I am right where I am supposed to be. I also have faith that I am headed in the right direction. In two days, that direction is Uganda, a place that my heart's compass seems determined to point me towards. The past month has tested my faith in this compass. Could it be broken? Perhaps it is supposed to be pointing towards the South of France instead. I've actually asked God a few times whether he/she is testing my faith or my stupidity. Each time an obstacle is put in my path, I wonder whether it is a sign to turn around or find the strength to go forward despite all obstacles. I am stubborn by birth, it is part of my DNA much like Coca Cola, Crawfish Boils, Quarter Horses, Willie Nelson, World Travel, and Helping Others. I thank my parents for all of it---even the stubbornness. I choose to think stubbornness is just another word for faith. I have got faith, and so I keep moving forward to Uganda, a place where I am intended to go. And in two weeks, I have faith that I will end up back where I am intended to return...with my family and friends.
Until then, Keep the faith y'all.

2011-05-15T15:26:00.000-07:00

The Blog Goes On....

2010-12-28T10:26:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone.
I am heading back to Uganda in 10 days. Stay tuned...
Love, Amanda

Tiny Drops

2010-11-02T13:25:00.001-07:00

"We may think that what we are doing is a drop in the ocean; but the ocean would be less without that drop." Mother Theresa

In February, I visited New Hope Children's Center where 153 orphaned children live along the shores of Lake Victoria. I held Patience's hand as she showed me her dormitory, a large dark room with triple bunk beds cramming every inch of floor space. Each bed had a small metal trunk at its foot. One small metal trunk held everything Patience owned in this world. I knew then that I would do the best I could to fill not only her trunk, but her heart, mind, and body as well. This week, I opened an email with photos of the children at New Hope receiving their new school uniforms. It may be a tiny drop, but it made my heart feel full. We will be visiting New Hope again in May. I hope to spread more tiny drops. I invite you to join me. Visit my website for more information: www.witnessyourworld.com.

Much Love, Amanda

The Language of Dreams

2010-09-26T17:08:00.000-07:00

I heard a writer from Queens being interviewed on NPR recently. He said he had tried to write stories about other places but, somehow, it just never felt right. "I daydream in Queens," he said. That simple statement struck a chord deep down inside me. I may live day to day in the mountains of Central Oregon, but I daydream in the South. In fact, most of my dreams have southern accents. I dream of pep rallies and football games, cyprus and magnolias. The South haunts me even in my sleep.
I spent quite a few years trying to pull up my roots. I remember my first few classes at Southern Oregon State when I painfully tried to hide my southern drawl behind a thinly veiled "You Guys." I have thankfully reinstated "Y'all" into my vocabulary. I have come to the realization that we may grow and bloom in many locales, but only if we honor and care for our roots.

I am (finally) proud to say that I am a Wanderlust at Heart, but a Southerner in my Soul. My road has been long and winding from Monroe, Louisiana to Bend, Oregon, with sidetracks here, there, and everywhere in between. I have searched the wide world over for something I had all along---my self. I will continue to wander the world, only now, I can truly say I am not lost.

Where are you roots? What language do you dream in? Have you spent any time with your self lately?

Sweet Dreams Y'all,
Amanda

Flight School

2010-09-23T10:00:00.000-07:00

"All Things Want to Fly"
R.M. Rilke

Two days ago, my seven-year-old daughter broke her elbow. She is now proudly strutting the hallways of her elementary school with a neon pink cast. I feel sure that the novelty will wear off and the tedium will set in, but we can safely reassure her that her wing will heal and she will fly again---perhaps she can just work on the landing. The whole experience has got me thinking about flight. I love the Rilke quote from above. I can think of all the times in my life when I have longed to feel the wind beneath my wings---riding my horse Sparky as fast as his pinto pony legs would carry us, skiing in a tuck all the way down Strawberry Hill, riding my yellow Schwinn straight down the levee onto Myrtle Street. I'm not sure exactly when I lost it; all I know is that, at some point along the way, I lost my will to fly. I became a flightless bird, a big chicken. I lost my faith in myself. There is no neon pink cast to help that heal.

It has taken years for me to return to the tarmac, but I am once again flight-ready. This time, the joy I get from helping others is what lifts me off the ground. We all have to find what it is that lifts us up. Then we have to spread our wings and take that leap of faith. I work with teen girls because I want them to feel what it's like to rise up to their potential. This week, I asked them a few questions that I want to pose to you as well:

What great thing would you attempt if you knew you couldn't fail?
What is your special gift and how can you share it with others?
What impact do you want to have on the world?

We all have the desire to fly. What are you waiting for?
See you in the wild blue yonder,
Amanda

The Harvest Moon

2010-09-19T06:38:00.000-07:00

I have spent the past 6 months tending to the garden of my soul. So many seeds were planted there while I was in Uganda. I have never considered myself much of a gardner. Weeding, hedging, pruning---these things do not come naturally to me. Growing wild, growing free---that's more my style. You should see my garden out at the farm, tomatoes tumbling across the ground, strawberries reaching through the wire mesh fence, and enough mint to provide juleps for all of Louisiana. So, how was I going to care for those lovely seeds that traveled around the world with me from Kampala, Uganda, to Bend, Oregon? It has taken great effort for me to become a conscious gardner for this precious plot of soul. Last night, I realized that we are coming upon the Harvest Moon this week. I decided it was the perfect time for me to share some of my harvest with you, my fellow gardners.

I have been working through the Women Like Us Foundation to continue to support New Hope Orphanage. We have received grants for new uniforms and have been able to provide bed nets for the entire surrounding village. I have begun a program that allows at-risk youth here to create and implement service projects in Uganda. I have also created Witness Your World Tours which offers travel opportunities for women that combine service, culture, yoga and self-discovery. Our first trip will be back to Uganda in May of 2011. There we will continue to sow the seeds of service. There we will surely receive more seeds to plant in our own gardens. If you are inspired to join us, please visit the website for a trip itinerary and registration information: www.witnessyourworld.com.

As Autumn approaches, I intend to spend more time in this little patch of my garden. I hope you will continue to bear witness for me. In other words, I hope you will bear with me and my blog blathering. I also hope you will begin to share your world with me. What have you harvested? What seeds are you still nurturing in your soul?

Many Blessings on all of Your Gardens, Amanda

Gift Exchange

2010-03-02T06:19:00.000-08:00

“One must know not just how to accept a gift, but with what grace to share it.”
Maya Angelou

This past week has been a bit of a blur. After two mechanical errors, an unexpected overnight in LA, and a scenic detour through both Seattle and Portland, my plane finally touched down in Bend approximately 66 hours after I left my hotel in Kampala. My family didn't recognize me at first as I entered the baggage carousel area in my new "I Heart LA" sweatsuit, a desperation purchase in the LAX Airport Hilton gift shop.
After a quick nap, I figured I'd be a as good as new or maybe as good as slightly used. Anyway, I thought I'd be fine. Jeff and I both took a nap. When we woke up an hour later, I was fine. Unfortunately, Jeff was not. At first, I thought it was just a "Man Cold," a psychological virus designed to solicit sympathy, guilt, chicken soup, and a back rub. One visit to the ER, a round of MRi's, catscans, blood tests and a spinal tap later, it was confirmed that Jeff had shingles, meningitis, and a bleeding ulcer. He is home and healing. I am playing nurse, a much easier job in Bend than Kasana.
I had intended to write a heartfelt grand finale blog to share with you all. I wanted to wrap up all of my experiences in a beautiful package, tie it with a bow, and send it out as a parting gift to the universe. Jeff's crazy quarantine has kept me away from my computer. Perhaps that has been his gift to me (there must have been an easier way, honey), because it allowed me time to realize that the universe isn't looking for a thank you gift. Patience, Faith, Miriam, Bubeera...the gifts the universe so generously shared with me while in Uganda cannot be wrapped in paper or witty one liners. The universe showered me with the gift of stories, so many heart-warming and heart-wrenching stories in their original unedited, uncut versions. My gift back to the universe has been to pass them on, to create a bridge between these worlds with my words. This week, I unpacked my dirty duffel bag and began washing the red clay earth from all of my clothes, but the stories are still folded carefully inside my heart. They are stained with blood, tears, sweat, jackfruit juice, and rich red clay. They smell of life and of death. These are the stories I will continue to tell, the gifts I will keep passing on. I am realizing that "witnessing the world" can mean listening with our hearts and speaking with our hearts as well as seeing with our hearts. I am reminded of the Maya Angelou quote from an earlier post, "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." I am hoping together we can relieve the agony of so many untold stories, the stories of Patience, Faith, Miriam, Bubeera intertwined with the stories of you and me. A neverending story, an everlasting gift.

Homeward Bound

2010-02-19T16:46:00.000-08:00

“Other things may change us, but we start and end with family”
Anthony Brandt

I've spent the past 11 hours in seat 52B watching the little airplane on the mini-screen in front of me as it headed away from England, passed south of Iceland and Greenland, inched across Toronto and Ontario, and slid down the west coast. I was at 33,000 ft and moving at 850 miles an hour. I began to wonder whether modern travel has diminished our appreciation of the journey. 24 hours ago, I was in a third world country where more than half of the population lives on less than $1.25 a day. Now, I find myself sitting in a pub in LAX eating bad fish & chips and drinking a $10 glass of chardonnay, listening to Madonna, and watching Tiger Woods apologize on CNN. Jet lag and culture shock are quickly settling in. Suddenly the trip feels strangely like a bungee jump. I am dangling here unable to remember anything after the initial leap or the free fall that followed. All I know is that in 6 hours I will bounce back into the arms of my family.

Leaving on a Jet Plane...

2010-02-19T01:54:00.000-08:00

My plane left the tarmac in Uganda 13 hours ago, but part of my heart is still there. I am sitting in the Heathrow airport waiting for the next leg in my journey home. An 11-hour flight to L.A., a 4-hour layover, and another 2-hour flight to Bend, where the rest of my heart is. All in all, it is 30 hours from Kampala to Bend. How will I bridge that distance when I am home? Of all the Ugandan seeds that were planted in my heart these past two weeks, which will grow and flourish in the high desert of Central Oregon? What kind of gardener will I be? I was just reminded if a passage from Paulo Coehlo's novel,

Brida:

"In life, each person can take one of two attitudes: to build or to plant. The builders might take years over their tasks, but one day, they finish what they’re doing. Then they find they’re hemmed in by their own walls. Life loses its meaning when the building stops.
Then there are those who plant. They endure storms and all the many vicissitudes of the seasons, and they rarely rest. But, unlike a building, a garden never stops growing. And while it requires the gardener’s constant attention, it also allows life for the gardener to be a great adventure.
Gardeners always recognise each other, because they know that in the history of each plant lies the growth of the whole World."
I must admit that I am now sobbing in the passenger lounge of Heathrow's terminal 5. I have planted a new corner in my garden, but I know in my heart that there are many more rows to hoe. I am tired physically and emotionally, but I am also inspired. I am returning home to my amazing family and friends, those lovely gardeners who helped to till the soil in my heart in preparation for this horticultural adventure. In 17 short hours, I will be soaking in their smiles and their hugs, their love and their support---those very things that fertilized the dream I have been blessed to live the past two weeks.

My Soil Sisters

2010-02-18T06:07:00.000-08:00

"I have got to the age now where I can see how short a time we have to be here. And when I think about it, it can seem strange beyond telling that this particular bunch of us should be here on this little patch of ground in this little patch of time, and I can think of all the other times and places I might have lived, the other kinds of person I might have been. But there is something else. There are moments when the heart is generous, and then it knows that for better or worse our lives are woven together, one with another and with the place..." Wendell Berry

My life has been woven together with 24 amazing women these past two weeks. We have become intricately intwined one with the other and with this place, creating a rich tapestry. We have shared the miracle of birth, the strain of hard work, the joy of song, and stories---so many stories. Stories that are heartbreaking, heartwarming, absurd and sublime. Some of these stories we brought with us from home, others have come to us while here. Together they tell the story of us, of how we came to be part of an interwoven one. We came here as strangers and are leaving as sisters--- bound with the red clay earth, baptised by the River Nile, and woven together by the stories we now share. Time to turn the page.

Building a Dream

2010-02-18T03:56:00.000-08:00

"When we are dreaming alone it is only a dream. When we are dreaming with others, it is the beginning of reality." Dom Helder Camara

Only half of Uganda’s children finish primary school. Less than half of those children go on to secondary school, and less than half of those go on to university. I see those statistics and begin to feel hopeless. This week, I saw a rural village in Uganda come together to build a school and I felt nothing but hope. We arrived at the Building Tomorrow work site and were greeted by parents, grandparents, community leaders and, as always, plenty of children who instead of being in school, were showing up to build a school. There were songs, speeches, handshakes, and hugs. Then we all grabbed hoes and we got to work. We spent the next three days side by side in the scorching heat and in the pouring rain. We shared stories, sweat, songs, and laughter and, brick by brick, we built a school that will educate over 400 children each year. These children are not just statistics anymore. They have names and personalities; they have joyful hearts and eager minds…and now, they will have a school.
I have never met a child in the U.S. who has built his or her own school. I have decorated my children's classrooms back home, but I have yet to meet a parent there who has laid the foundation or dug the latrine. As I watched mothers with babies strapped to their backs swinging hoes and young giggling girls balancing bricks on their heads, I knew I was witnessing something more than just a construction site. This was a dream site. This community wasn’t there to build walls with us; they were there to build a dream. A dream that will grow day by day, brick by brick. A dream that will, hopefully, extend beyond those very walls and that small plot of land. A dream that could very well someday change the statistical landscape of Uganda. I feel honored to have lifted a hoe, laid a brick, and shared the dream.

Hope is the Real Thing...

2010-02-16T19:24:00.000-08:00

Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.”
Emily Dickinson

I went to sleep feeling hopeless and helpless, a crazy emotional cocktail that leaves a nasty hangover. I found out last night that many of the children at New Hope are HIV+. What is the "hope" for New Hope? How can I make a difference? Is there a sustainable way to support them? I still haven't answered those questions, but I intend to. I read this morning that scientists have discovered that King Tut died in 1327 B.C. of malaria. That's interesting, but I would rather focus on the children who are living and dying today. King Tut's story is continuing to be told through the voice of scientists. Who will tell the story of New Hope? Perhaps the universe invited me here to tell this story. Two of the girls who I spent time with are named Faith and Patience. Faith, Patience, Hope...again, perhaps the universe is trying to tell me something. One of the lines from

Jayber Crow

just flashed across my heart, "I have been unable to shake the feeling that I have been led." Why was I led to a little orphanage on the shores of Lake Victoria? The children of New Hope have perched in my soul and I must find a way to give words to their tune.

As Etta James would say, I am T-I-D-E.

2010-02-15T19:29:00.000-08:00

We are heading back to the Building Tomorrow work site today. My muscles, physical and emotional, are tired and sore. Like any muscle that has been overworked, my heart is beginning to show signs of fatigue. I wonder how far I can stretch it. I worry that my reach isn't far enough. I want to hold this pose as long as I can, but I know there are other postures that are just as important. I have children at home who need me too. They have warm beds, clean clothes, plenty of food, and wonderful schools, but they need their mother as much as any of the children here. They are part of the reason I am here. I want them to have dreams, I want them to know they can make a difference, I want them to witness their world up close---even the parts of it that aren't easy to look at. Our hearts can become weak and lazy if we don't use them enough. I will keep stretching mine as far as I can while I am here with the children of Uganda. Then I will return home and wrap it around my own children.

Brick by Brick

2010-02-15T11:24:00.000-08:00

It takes a village to raise a child. African Proverb

Today it took a village to raise a school. I was happy to be a small part of that village. We drove an hour out of Kampala to a rural community where the children either do not attend school or have to walk a great distance each day to do so. We were greeted by a group of perhaps 100 community members. We took turns making bricks, hauling bricks, and laying them down one by one. We worked side by side with children, parents, and grandparents. We watched a wall go up brick by brick, a wall that will one day be part of a school that will serve some 400 children. Today I felt like I was making a difference. I may be just one person, but I am part of a village, a world village.

2010-02-14T02:50:00.000-08:00

THICH NHAT HANH:
People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child -- our own two eyes. All is a miracle.

I hope we can all open our eyes to the miracles surrounding us. Happy Valentine's Day. XO, Amanda

Emotional Jetlag

2010-02-13T06:17:00.000-08:00

“Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.” The Wizard of Oz

I am lying in bed with what feels like motion sickness, or perhaps e-motion sickness. I am not surprised. We have spent the past week traveling down several Ugandan roads which were rough, unpaved, and full of potholes. Yes, I mean literally and figuratively. Yesterday, we took one turn way too fast and I experienced emotional whiplash.
We started the day at the New Hope School & Orphanage located about an hour outside of Kampala. The children greeted us with song. This is a ritual I will miss, the singing. You could see the curiosity and excitement in their eyes. It isn't everyday that a big white tour bus full of mzunga yogis shows up with new mattresses, school supplies, flouride treatments, soccer balls, jump ropes, clothing, and love. Until recently, these 80 children didn't have clean water to drink. Our funds were able to provide a new water filtration system. We were also able to start a garden which will, hopefully, be able to provide them with better nutrition. It may sound like a lot, but it is never enough, never as much as they deserve. The director, the teachers, and the children all thanked us. One 13 year old girl named Florence said, "thank you for the mattresses; now we can sleep and have dreams." I just hope some of those dreams come true.
We spent the day dancing, doing yoga, playing soccer, giving flouride treatments, reading books, and moving new mattresses. One little girl named Patience stayed close to my side the whole day, squeezing my hand, giving me hugs. When we left, she told me she would cry for me. It breaks my heart to think I may have caused her yet another disappointment. I wanted so badly to say I'd be back, but I was careful not to let my heart make promises that I can't keep. I climbed back aboard the yogi bus, cracked open a chilled bottle of water, and felt my spirit deflate. I have said goodbye too many times on this short trip. This felt like the emotional straw that might break my heart.
I didn't have time to adjust to this new emotional zone long. After a brief layover at the hotel to wash up, we were back on the bus heading to a New Moon Celebration at a local yoga studio. We passed the slum areas, the market stalls, the roadside bars and pulled into a walled, gated compound of luxury homes. We were greeted by members of the Kampala yoga community, ex-pats from Austria, England, Australia, and America. We were lead across a manicured lawn to the Shala, an outdoor gazebo furnished with meditation pillows, candles, Buddha statues, Celtic ritual elements---all the necessary spiritual accessories. We began with an intention-setting ceremony which was quite lovely. Maybe this was a nice balance to the day after all. The group leader, Gavin, spoke of the need to heal the scars of Uganda's violent past. I looked around at the 30 or so people gathered in the Shala, there were only 3 Ugandans and 2 were our guides. Hmmm. Then we were asked to lie down for a guided mediation. Here is where my day took a sharp, unexpected turn. New-age music filled the air, and a soft voice started speaking through a microphone, "when I count back from 5 to 1, your mind will go blank and you will find total relaxation..." By the time he got to 1, I was pretty sure I had been abducted into some cult. I wondered whether I could scale the compound walls. As you all know, I love to create stories. Sometimes this works against me. I was creating all sorts of crazy stories in my head as the little Yogi Oz spoke to us from behind the green curtain.
When the meditation ended, I was relieved to find that none of us had been brainwashed as far as I could tell. The ex-pat yogis from Ugandan Oz prepared an organic, vegetarian feast for us. I didn't drink any kool-aid, but I decided the wine was safe, and necessary. Then we climbed aboard the magic yogi bus. The gates of Oz closed behind us as we headed back down the bumpy, congested yellow brick road to our hotel. There's no place like home, there's no place like home.
Before I fell asleep, I thought of Patience and all the beautiful children of New Hope---Faith, Nicolas, Philip, Mary. I doubt a meditation circle will heal their scars. I'm afraid there's nothing in that bag for them. But I prayed that they would all have dreams that night, and that maybe a few of them would actually come true.

Oh Mighty Isis...

2010-02-12T12:06:00.000-08:00

"Oh mighty winds that blow on high, lift me now that I might fly" ~ Isis

I have dived into denial many times in my life, but today I did a canon ball into the River Nile for the first time ever. Egyptians believe the Nile floods each year from the tears of Isis, the Goddess of motherhood, magic and fertility. Yesterday, I celebrated motherhood, magic and fertility in a small birthing room in Kasana. Today, I was baptised in the tears of Isis. As a young girl living on the bayou, I never dreamed I would one day be swimming in the Nile---then again, maybe I did. I am grateful for the amazing group of women who are sharing this dream with me. You are all goddesses.

Birth Day

2010-02-12T10:34:00.000-08:00

February 11th is a very special day for me. Twelve years ago on February 11th, I gave birth to my son, Charlie, and became a mom. My world was forever changed. This year I was in a tiny African village on February 11th, trying to find a way to honor the rite of passage I hold most dear in my life. When I was given the opportunity to work in a local birth Clinic, I decided this was the perfect way to celebrate Charlie's birth, as well as my own birth into motherhood.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I experienced. We entered the birthing room, a small cement square with two birthing beds separated by a fabric curtain. My senses were immediately assaulted by the smells of shit, sweat, blood, and tears. It smelled strongly of both life and death. A young 17 year old girl named Miriam lay on one of the beds. It was covered in a plastic garbage bag that the birthing women are required to bring themselves. There are no clean sheets, pillows, ice chips, or even bottled water. If you need it, you bring it---otherwise you go without. They go without a lot. I noticed that the metal stirrups were covered in rust and the floor was splattered with blood. Miriam was in labor, she was alone, and she was terrified. She spoke English and asked us to pray for her. She was certain God was not with her, that she had done something wrong, that she was going to die. I held her hand and assured her that God was there, that she was strong, and that she and her baby were going to be fine. A little voice whispered in my ear that this was Africa where things often go wrong.
I spent the next 4 hours determined to prove that voice wrong. The doctor told Miriam she would have to have a cesarean if she couldn't get the baby down further. In Kasana, a cesarean is often a death sentence. We convinced Miriam to climb off the birthing bed and start walking, squatting, swaying, breathing, singing---performing that primitive birth dance. Four hours later, I held her hand as she delivered a healthy baby girl and cried happy tears as another mother was born.
Later, she looked at me and said, "sister this is our baby." She even asked me to name her. I told her I had already named my babies and it was her turn. She giggled like the 17 year child that she is and said , " I want to name her baby Miriam after me." Then she asked for a coke. Seane raced to a roadside stand and brought back two cokes. Miriam beamed.
I have no idea what happens next in the story of Miriam and Baby Miriam. I wish I could write them a happy ending, but this is Africa where things often go wrong. Then again, we could prove that voice wrong if we all really tried.

A thing called hope...

2010-02-11T19:38:00.000-08:00

“Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark.”
If you ever question what difference any of it makes, you will most certainly find your answer in the eyes of a child. The children of Uganda have answered some big questions for me. I know that I was meant to come here to listen to their stories, dance to their songs, delight in their smiles, witness their struggles, and shine a light on their hope as well as their need. I am ever amazed at the joy that can found in the most poverty-stricken of places. Many of these children live without running water, electricity, enough food, shoes to wear, clean clothes, access to adequate education or medical care. The list of what they live without goes on and on. Their clothes, their homes, and indeed their lives may seem torn and tattered, yet the most exquisite thread of hope runs through them all.

We do the Hokey Pokey...and that's what it's all about.

2010-02-11T12:56:00.000-08:00

On Wednesday, we got our hands (and feet) dirty. We had been walking the walk, but now we were picking up the pace. We rode boda bodas, the ubiquitous motorcycle taxis, out to the Shanti Uganda Birth Center Site. We were quite a sight ourselves---24 mazungas riding on boda bodas that have specifically been told to stay within reasonable speeds (something they are not known for). We slowly snaked our way down the bumpy red clay road like some sort of crazy mizunga shriner parade. Once there, we stomped mud, made adobe bricks, sculpted walls and planned gardens, all under the careful watch of the ever-present village children and the lovely 90-year old woman who visits the site daily to assess progress. This is truly a community effort. The women are grateful for a safe place to birth, the men are grateful for a job, the children are grateful for the entertainment.
We returned to our guest house covered in mud and very relieved to have enough water for a shower and one flush. They turn the water on only sporadically so we had to learn to time our trips to the bathroom accordingly. After cleaning up in the loosest sense of the word, we heading back for a bonfire, dinner and dancing. We drummed, we sang, we even did the hokey pokey. Two cultures brought together by music in service, in gratitude, and in joy. In the end, maybe that is what it's all about...

Night Light

2010-02-11T12:30:00.000-08:00

I spent my first night in Kasana having dinner in the home of Bubeera. She is one of the HIV+ women who is working with Shanti Uganda. Her home is a one-room concrete structure. A curtain separates the living area with the sleeping area. Bubeera has 4 children, but only her 10 year old daughter still lives with her. Her 3 sons have gone to live with their grandparents because they will "have better opportunities." Reality rules in Uganda where heartbreak is a daily occurrence. Bubeera has no electricity or running water. She prepared dinner for us on a small charcoal stove outside. We sat on mats upon the concrete floor and ate by the light of her cell phone. I have stopped trying to make sense of it all.
The children in Bubeera's neighborhood, ever-intrigued by the mizungas, spent the entire evening just outside of the fabric curtain that serves as her front door. They giggled and squealed with delight when I took pictures of them. They are so full of light and love.
Bubeera kept thanking me for coming to dinner. I owe her so much more than she owes me. She has allowed me to witness her world and, therefore, expand my own. I have seen strength, resilience, and hope shine brightly in what could seem utter darkness. I hope my own light shines a little brighter for having been touched by hers.

Speechless

2010-02-11T11:58:00.000-08:00

The past three days are hard for me to describe. I am still trying to process all that I have seen, touched, and experienced. On Tuesday, we made the one hour trip from Kampala, a bustling city of 1.5 million people, to Kasana, a small village with spotty access to electricity and running water. Some of the funds we raised are going to an organization called Shanti Uganda. They are building a birthing center outside of Kasana, as well as training midwives and providing job skills training for a group of HIV positive women in the area who served as our welcoming committee. We climbed out of our bus and were greeted with dancing, singing, and many heartfelt displays of gratitude. The women taught us how to roll beads out of paper, their main source of income. Then we all practiced yoga and had lunch together. All of these women are HIV positive. Many are also widows or have been left by their husbands. They raise children and grandchildren in extreme poverty. Could I smile in the face of such odds? Could I rise to meet these challenges? I am in utter awe of these women. Truly, I am speechless. Obviously, this makes blogging difficult. I apologize.

Gone with the Ugandan Wind

2010-02-08T21:52:00.000-08:00

My bags finally made it here after taking an extended holiday in London. Fresh clothes can do wonders for the soul. I have now stuffed as many if them as I can into Charlie's backpack as we are leaving Kampala for 3 days to go and work at the birthing center in Kasana. I am told I will be attending some births which reminds of the scene in "Gone with the Wind" where Mamie exclaims, "I don't know nothin' bout birthing no babies." Then again, maybe I do. I will dig deep down into my personal bags and try to retrieve those treasured memories. I will take them with me and wear them every second that I am there.

I will not be able to blog while there, but I will return to Kampala in 3 days bursting with things to share I am sure. Please stay tuned. I am grateful to you all for witnessing my journey. Much love, Amanda

2010-02-08T11:18:00.000-08:00

It's not the load that breaks you down - its the way you carry it”
Lou Holtz

While visiting the Acholi slum, we helped distribute beans, rice, and flour to several families. I saw how the Acholi women carried the heavy bags atop their heads, usually carrying a baby across their back as well. I passed the baby back to Christine and told her I could carry the food to her home for her. I wanted to lighten her load. It looked easy enough. I put the bag on my head and followed Christine down the red dirt street past mud shack after mud shack. The men snickered behind their beer bottles, the children openly laughed and called out "Mizunga, Mizunga." It means white person, or maybe crazy white person in my case. I tried to smile and act as if it were the most natural thing in the world for me to be strolling through an African slum with a bag of donated food on my head. Suddenly, the bag ripped and I was showered in beans. Christine quickly grabbed the bag from me and tried to stop the loss of legumes. She even grabbed a handful from down the front of my shirt. I raced back to the distribution center for another bag. When I returned she was picking beans up off of the road. She laughed at the beans stuck in my hair. Then she thanked me for the new bag, placed it atop her head and continued on down the road to her small 1 room mud home with her sweet little baby strapped to her back. No, I would never know the way to carry her load.

Found in Translation

2010-02-08T06:27:00.000-08:00

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
Maya Angelou

I am a lover of words; they are the threads we weave our stories from. Is it any wonder we call a good tale a yarn? We each have a story that we live day by day, thread by thread. Yesterday, I spent the morning listening to the stories of two Ugandan women from the Northern Acholi tribe. They spoke of the horrors of Joseph Kony's long-running war and how they fled their villages to seek safety in the slums outside of Kampala. They spoke of things lost---neighbors, children, homes, hope. We sat in silence absorbing all the horror and heartbreak that these two women poured out drop by drop, word by word. It was painful to listen to their stories, but I cannot know how painful it has been to live them and bear them inside.
Afterwards, we visited their homes in the Acholi slums. We met more women, we held their children, we visited their homes, we witnessed their world. There were women who wanted to share their stories with me but could not speak English. I tried to let my heart translate what my head could not. I sat on the dirt floor of a 2 room shack where up to 9 people sleep, eat, and live out their stories day by day, frayed thread by frayed thread. I brought food, clothes, toys and medical supplies. It would never be enough. The tapestry of their lives is so torn and tattered, and all I could offer was a small safety pin.
One bright-eyed girl named Sara sat beside me on the floor and tried her best to serve as my translator. When I was about to leave, she got up and spoke quietly with her mother before asking if she could go home to America with me. I had given her a new book with counting games because she likes Math, but I could not give her a new story to live. She gave me some bracelets that her mother had made and one of those beautiful hugs that only a child can give. I received so much more than I gave.
I laid awake last night thinking of all the threads that had been woven into my heart that day. They are a part of my tapestry now too.

Taking Flight

2010-02-05T13:53:00.000-08:00

Today is my 42nd birthday. I am sitting in the Denver International Terminal alone with a glass of chardonnay, a plate of fries, and my laptop in front of me. I have just finished the first leg of a journey that started a long time ago. Sometimes I wonder just how long ago. When exactly did my inner compass began pointing me in this direction? This wondering about my wanderings took ahold of me this morning as I was loading up the backpack I have borrowed from Charlie to serve as my carry-on to Uganda. A favorite passage from Wendell Berry's Jayber Crow suddenly popped into my head and I set aside my last minute packing to thumb through my favorite novel and find just the right page. I quickly ripped it out, folded it up and slipped it into the mix along with my hand sanitizer, airborne tablets, malaria meds, licorice tea packets, toiletries, journal, books, camera, family photos, phone, laptop, etc. That is where it remained until a few moments ago when I decided to re-gift it to myself. Happy birthday to me...

"If you could, I suppose, it would be a good idea to live your life in a straight line---starting, say, in the Dark Wood of Error, and proceeding by logical steps through Hell and Purgatory and into Heaven. Or you could take the King's Highway past approximately named dangers, toils, and snares, and finally cross the River of Death and enter the Celestial City. But that is not the way I have done it, so far. I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked. Often what has looked like a straight line to me has been a circle or a doubling back. I have been in the Dark Wood of Error any number of times. I have known something of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, but not always in that order. Often I have not known where I was going until I was already there. I have had my share of desires and goals, but my life has come to me or I have gone to it mainly by way of mistakes and surprises. Often I have received better than I have deserved. Often my fairest hopes have rested on bad mistakes. I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley. And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake the feeling that I have been led---make of that what you will."

I, too, feel as though I have been led to this point. This is my pilgrimage, you might say. Or some mid-life rite of passage. Mom mentioned today that she decided to get her pilot's license when she was my age. Perhaps we both felt a need to spread our wings and fly. Make of that what you will.

3 Days and Counting...

2010-02-01T06:57:00.000-08:00

Elizabeth Stone wrote that "Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."

I leave for Uganda in 3 days, but a large part of my heart will stay here in Bend.

"Mom, today a friend asked me what you do for a job. I told her you raise money to build schools and stuff in Africa. I felt really proud saying that about you. What you're doing is really cool."
~ Will

"I think it's really cool that you just came up with this idea to help people and you got it done."
~ Charlie

"Yeah, Mom. You're not like other mothers. You're one of a kind."
~ Caroline

I am not cool or one of a kind, but I am very, very lucky.

Can you hear me now, now, NOW?

2010-01-30T15:48:00.001-08:00

"A person's a person, no matter how small."
~ Horton the Elephant

Yesterday, my yoga teacher began class by saying, "if we listen to our bodies when they whisper, we won't have to hear them scream." That phrase swirled around in my head as I practiced my deep breathing. I started to think of all the words you could substitute for "bodies"---children, to-do lists, tea pots. As I twisted myself into different shapes, those words drifted down into my heart. Here is how my heart translated them, "if we listen to our world when it whispers, we won't have to hear it scream." I am always amazed at how our world pulls together when some catastrophic event occurs. We all put aside our differences to roll up our sleeves, reach into our pockets, and open our hearts. We respond well to screams.
The authors of Half the Sky write that "39,000 baby girls die annually in China because they don't receive medical care." Do we hear them? Unicef reports that "A woman in sub-Saharan Africa has a 1 in 16 chance of dying in pregnancy or childbirth." Do we hear them? Partners in Health estimates that "Every year, more than 10 million children in developing countries die before reaching their fifth birthday." Do we hear them?
I hope, as a world, we can become better listeners. I hope more of us begin to hear the whispers of those in need before they have to scream, whether they are in Haiti, New Orleans, China, sub-Saharan Africa, or our own backyard.

I've Come a Long Way, Baby

2010-01-30T08:31:00.000-08:00

“Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.”
Shel Silverstein

I often ask myself how a southern girl raised on cold coca colas, central ac, and mosquito repellent ended up living in a place where folks cross country ski to school in winter and wear fleece to the swimming pool in July. This morning, I woke up wondering how I ended up living who I am instead of where I am. I can pinpoint on a map my journey from the bayous of North Louisiana to the mountains of Central Oregon. My personal journey has been much more circuitous, full of scenic detours, idol wanderings and the occasional dead end. I could have taken an easier route or maybe just followed directions better, but getting lost was part of the adventure that has led me to who I am. If we just go through life we may as well be on a treadmill. We have to grow through life and that sometimes means growing pains. I am who I am because I didn't follow directions or stay between the lines. I took leaps of faith and occasionally fell down---hard. But I got back up and kept going, and I will keep on going and growing through my life. I will listen to all of the well-intentioned words of warning and wisdom, but I will listen most closely to my heart because... anything can happen, child. Anything can be. I am a Southern born Southwestern girl living in the Great Northwest and heading to Uganda. I've come a long way, but I've become a long way too.

Seeds

2010-01-22T11:27:00.000-08:00

"Action speaks louder than words but not nearly as often."
Mark Twain

I was out tree gazing in the woods the other day, and it struck me that each of the tall pines towering above me began as a tiny seed. That's a lot of growth potential. I returned home to emails and facebook messages, a few containing political jokes about Haiti and parodies of Hitler. It really made me sad. Those messages reminded me of all the tiny seeds we toss about absentmindedly everyday. I am all for freedom of speech, but I think we should be mindful of the seeds we plant with our words. They have tremendous growth potential as well. What kind of garden do we really want to grow? Victor Frankel, a psychiatrist who survived the Nazi concentration camps and published more than 30 books on theoretical and clinical psychology, was fond of saying, "I recommend that the Statue of Liberty on the East Coast be supplemented with a Statue of Responsibility on the West Coast."

As I travel far from home, I hope to be a conscious gardener.

Small Things

2010-01-21T06:52:00.000-08:00

Mother Theresa said "we can do no great things, just small things with great love."

I received a box of baby blankets this week from a yoga studio in Minnesota, which I offered to take to the birthing center in Uganda. When I first saw the big box, I thought, "there goes my plan to pack light." Then, I realized that packing light isn't always the goal. Sometimes we need to see just how much we can carry on. These baby blankets aren't going to solve any world problems. Each baby who receives one is not guaranteed to live a healthy and happy life. But wrapping a newborn child in love is one small thing that we can do to start creating a better world. I'm off to find another duffle.

How I Became a Bull Fighter & Blogger...

2010-01-14T13:29:00.000-08:00

Hemmingway wrote "Nobody ever lives their life all the way up except bull-fighters."

I created Witness Your World because I want to live my life all the way up. My first Witness Your World project has been to raise funds and awareness for issues facing women and children in Uganda. In three weeks, I will be traveling there with Off the Mat, Into the World to help build a birthing center and schoolhouse outside of Kampala. This blog is my way of sharing the experience with my family and friends who believed in me and inspired me to step into the ring. Let the blogs begin. Olé.