Development??

8 October 2010

       “What are all of those people doing over there,” I peculiarly questioned with a mouthful of lukewarm previously boiled water. “Mosquito nets…they are waiting for the distribution of mosquito nets,” were the precisely dawdling words that leisurely dwindled from Patrick’s half-opened mouth. Patrick – the introverted, mild tempered and gentle Program Director of the Health Department at my internship – sat in the passenger’s seat of the dusty white, commanding pickup truck as we entered the aged, local health clinic of Layibi Village. “Let’s move and speak with the director here,” flatly mentioned Patrick. Instead of hurriedly disembarking from the truck, my gaze remained paralyzed on the hundreds, maybe thousands of young black African women wrapped up with old towels or sheets that securely nestled babies on their backs. They lined up so tightly it would have been difficult to slide a sheet of loose-leaf paper in between any of them. I wondered if waiting in these queues was no big deal for these women. In fact, six years ago, about 90% similarly lined up for food distribution as they resided in deplorable and dreadful internally displaced persons camps. “Malaria is a huge problem here, so the local government is distributing these today, targeting children under 5,” uttered Patrick as he sensed my indistinct curiosity.

       Yesterday, I joyfully strolled down the outsized, mangled and potholed-ridden dirt path that directly leads from our house to the main road. A sense of marvel and nosiness excitedly crept throughout my soul as I was en route to Lacor Hospital with the purpose of shadowing an HIV/AIDS counselor. Realizing that my intention of proceeding with a meditative walk was failing miserably, I took notice of a conspicuously beautiful, dark Ugandan middle-aged fella who regularly dodged remaining puddles from last night’s treacherous downpour. I was mesmerized at his perceived gentility and refinement while footing down the muddy dirt road that was surrounded by six foot high, local, copiously neon-green vegetation. I contentedly analyzed his sense of serenity as he greeted nearly ever passerby on this humid, wet and overcast morning. Those passing along consisted of elderly, wrinkled women on bikes, small barefoot children with mud stained, sun-drenched, fading pink uniform school shirts skipping to school, mothers with small children strapped to their backs while carrying large canteens of water on their heads, boda boda drivers, and men in “business outfits” minus the ties, riding bicycles to begin their workday.

       An aura of positivity swept across my inner being, and I knew I had to chat with this dude. Thus, within seconds I caught up to his brightly smiling face. Probably not a day older than me, Phillips, a primary school teacher was additionally on his way to work. After politely exchanging customary Acholi greetings, we were enthralled in deep conversation. “You come all the way from America to be here!” laughingly stated the modest, amply unique chap. He continued, “So how is life in America, my good brother?” Pausing for a minute, I confidently replied, “It’s good…yeah…it’s good.” Looking squarely in my eyes with heartfelt concern, he frankly stated, “America is so developed, huh? It’s not like this” and he pointed to the mud brick, thatched-roof huts, the cows eating grass, and the woman selling tomatoes under a canopy crafted out of sticks. As I was about to blurb out some nonsense, something inside told me to remain quiet, and thus I began to contemplate his inquiry.

       No objections could possibly be raised that this man was speaking of material/economical/financial development.” Material development?” Why does the collective global discourse discard non-material “development”? What comes to mind when the word “development” surfaces? I’ve met a handful of young aspiring and energetic students at Gulu University who are currently enrolled in “Development Studies.” Is this curriculum modeled after some socially constructed Western notion of what “development” actually constitutes? Did Franz Fanon nail it on the head with his insightful interpretations when he stated, “The settler’s town is a well-fed town, an easygoing town; its belly is always full of good things. The settlers’ town is a town of white people…The native town is a hungry town starved of bread, of meat, of shoes, of coal, of light.”

       While it’s blatantly obvious that material lacks in this lovely arena of our globe, I consistently remain perplexed at the term “development.” Sure, my privilege of sustaining a brilliant life capped with material “development” has clearly and undeniably brought me to Gulu. How about internal human “development” that comprises greeting fellow passersby each morning? What about the consistent collective “development” of the souls that aren’t afraid to speak with strangers, invite guests regularly into their homes (which may consist of a mud hut), look after their neighbors children, smile at one another, eat together, hold each other? What about all of that inner, bona fide, genuine soul-full development that is habitually absent with material “development?” It appears we are all searching for some form of “development.” A majority of Westerns fulfill this desire with material, while many others are simply not given an option, and thus settle for an arguably more noteworthy “development.”

       I decided not to bombard Phillips with my deep-seated opinions. We ultimately parted ways, and the intensity of my day had just begun. The next few hours I spent at the overcrowded, busted, grossly stuffy counseling room at Lacor Hospital. Full blown AIDS patients of various ages entered the sessions crying, staring blankly, laughing, and speechless. An eleven year old girl, two young widows, and a single man composed the few individuals I observed in counseling that particular day. My sluggish saunter back home allowed me to brood over the notion that I’m in northern Uganda working with folks anguishing from the detrimental, dominant effects of this devious virus. “You’re in it, Neil,” I obscurely murmured to myself.

       Attempting to maintain a sense of stability, I noticed myself experiencing a touch of sorrow, and kind of just wanted to get home and get on the yoga mat. However, before I arrived home, a magical sense of security, beauty, and love hit me without any sort of warning. As I was turning left off of the main road to enter the footpath back to our house, I spotted two rather young short haired barefooted Ugandan girls walking towards me. They were decked out in matching fading peach dresses with off-white flowered designs across the front. Holding hands, both dynamically and vigorously waved their free hands at me, as their enormous, gorgeous smiles could have been spotted miles away. As I stood there and silently raised my right hand to wave back, I took a long hard gaze at them. They seemed harmoniously at peace, as their dresses danced in the wind while the setting sun sank directly above their heads. Call it cliché, but there I was and it went straight to my heart. These two girls provided a sense of comfort, a sense of positivity and a sense of trust that assured me all was where it should be. Ahh, life in this section of our globe possesses an indescribable sense of aura.

One of the roads back to our place.