"Burning Man"

15 December

        Since I attended Burning Man two summers ago, I’ve occasionally attempted to deconstruct its function and meaning. Scores of diverse and eccentric folks often rave at the “magic and amazingness of being totally free for a week in the desert of Nevada.” Besides simply being a gathering for mostly white, privileged Americans, I did find a bit of essence in the festival. Quite interestingly enough is the various parallels I’ve noticed between what the jamboree in Nevada strives to accomplish and actual life here in Gulu, Uganda.
        Through discourse and personal observations in the Nevada desert, Burning Man attempts to create a sort of collective, sharing, loving, caring, money-free, anything goes type environment, where one tends to forget and remove herself from everyday reality and instead “just be.” In theory, and at times in practice, this phenomenon is worthwhile and appetizing. While in Nevada, I clearly remember wandering the disgusting, yet beautiful searing sun drenched dusty roads and having people welcome me into their campsites or “communities.” While spending time with these “strangers” I felt an affably strong human connection as people shared stories, alcohol and food.
        Two weeks ago, a group of elderly men were sitting on wooden chairs while relaxing in the shade of a neon green mango tree. Before the shortest one noticed me, I attempted to remain out of their view and simply observe. I could physically feel an electric vibe that I wasn’t ready to leave. Upon being spotted, I already found myself cautiously walking towards them. The Acholi elders were leisurely swigging on the local alcoholic beverage called gulu-gulu. They motioned me over and I had no qualms joining them on that sluggish Saturday afternoon. Sipping on the foggy, cloudy grayish booze forced me to wince as if I was in pain, and immediate laughter ensued from the gents. Without warning it hit me as I glanced around and witnessed the countless mud huts within yards from us. Bare-chested kids were playing with colorful bottle caps, mothers and grandmas chatting, cooking and laughing. A strident, half broken radio with only a tiny piece of the antenna blared traditional Acholi music. The energy of the atmosphere was electric. “Is this what Burning Man attempts to create,” I internally questioned.
         The number of times I’ve been given meals, tea, soda and beer in Gulu have surely been inconceivable. These offers come from some of the most economically disadvantaged beings in the whole of Uganda. Sharing material, sharing food, sharing community and sharing love is essentially the backbone of this culture. The Acholi have a specific term for guests who refuse what the locals offer. The term is lawake, which translates to one who is too proud.
         I personally appreciate Burning Man’s continuous efforts to create this “utopian society” for one week a year. Who wouldn’t enjoy marinating on that? Perhaps I’m dumbstruck by how a “developed” and “advanced” nation such as the U.S. has to artificially create genuine and authentic bonds and relationships amongst a collective. Scores of folks plan for their Burning Man experiences several months in advance. Imagine having to plan for an appreciative, caring, giving and receiving society? What happens the other 51 weeks of the year? Does Burning Man generate an energetic shift that will perpetuate legitimate human interactions to carry throughout the year? Or do most participants head back to quasi, half-assed jobs and lifestyles they only wished were more Burning Man-esque?
         Who knows and I realize this is basically a pathetic and crude attempt at a comparison. However, I am fully cognizant of the fact that when I’m in the community of Gulu, being offered food, drinks, friendships, etc. is not because I’m at a $250 festival in the desert of Nevada. Could it pertain to the fact that I’m a munu? Absolutely. Yet, there still seems a higher or more authentic degree of gentility and honesty, and the Acholi culture is renowned for its hospitality amongst all visitors, not only munus.
        Again, I remain clouded at the disparities between my privileged homeland and this piece of earth. I do ultimately believe a sincere and particular mysticism remains present within this collective. Popular political and humanitarian discourse proposes the contrary. However, forcing oneself to peel the sociopolitical layers of this land, one is ultimately left with the stark reality of Acholiland. The ways in which these folks continuously remain plated below the surface in Uganda and the world, is not only disturbing, but additionally misinterpreted. Unfortunately, particular international NGOs up here don’t necessarily aid the situation. Foreign aid and “help” in Africa is an entirely abstract phenomenon that needs further deconstruction and analysis.
        But for now, at least the Acholi do not need to unnaturally produce a fantasy world in which people demonstrate some essential underpinnings of humanity. If we could only learn from these folks instead of continuously marginalizing them and referring to this population as “the other” …