New cushions

The fan is spreading a breeze under the clothes horse, airing my machine washed clothes. The handles on my carbon frame road bike look eagerly at me, the frame ready to jump and race out the door if I even mouth the word 'ride'. The 'Beaches' soundtrack we found on vinyl on a recent op-shop fossick is adding some oomph to the scent of spiced carrot cake wax melts.

I'm not in Uganda anymore.

No, this is Australia. Where trying to find the right colour / texture combination of cushions to match your new reclining lounge suite can not only become the focus of your day, but also cause a 'domestic'.

"I said from the start that lounge suite wasn't right for the carpet."

It's been five months since I left Lugazi, Uganda. And I haven't written a blog since.

Actually, that's not true. I've written a couple, but I haven't posted them.

The readjustment and reverse culture shock has been nowhere near as difficult, and simultaneously excruciatingly harder, than I imagined it to be.

I can't even reveal to those closest to me what I really think most of the time - for fear of sounding hypocritical, offensive, holier than thou, idealistic, negative, naive, bleeding heart, optimist. And did I mention hypocrital?

I will post the unfinished blogs. It's just every time I think to write one, I tell myself I'm not allowed until I finish the one I started when I first came home.

Today, I'm throwing out my self-imposed rule and starting from here. Sometimes I'll jump back. Sometimes forward. Sometimes things are not going to make a whole lot of chronological or creative sense.

But here it is. A letter.

When I started this blog, I wrote it as letters to my grandmothers: Betty Marshall and Sylvia Toohey.  As Betty's mother's name was Ruby, and Sylvia's maiden surname was Dove, thus the name of the blog (it was either that or Silver Betty...but since I've had a penchant for ruby coloured items for some time, it seemed apt).

These women are two of my favourite story-tellers. One has a timeless and tireless imagination for fairytales - the secret lives of the creatures who live in her garden, and her thousands of dolls who chatter to each other as she sleeps. I do not doubt there are fairies under her Maidenhair ferns. The other, has a wicked memory which stores names, relationships and most importantly, moments of joy, tragedy, tears and hilarity in a filing system only she can see. For those who listen, she will work her magic so that her true stories become your own - a gift to pass on if you open it.

But tonight, I am making an exception, and addressing a letter to Doreen, in Uganda.

Dear Doreen,

I am sitting here in Yeppoon, on the woven mat you gave me, looking at a pineapple. How could I not think of you? Despite the fact I can wander downstairs to the supermarket and buy a large pineapple juice from the fridge, I am tempted to boil the skin, wait for it to cool down, drink my 'juice' and think of you. Truth be told, I prefer your ginger tea.

I am currently employed as the Digital Producer at the newspaper I work for in Queensland, which means I edit online stories and try to grow our online audience by engaging with our community through our stories, and social media. Part of the challenge of building this audience, is to inspire the community to tell their own stories.

So, one of the things I'm asking people to do in the lead-up to Christmas is write a letter. They are being asked to log onto our website and write a letter to someone they won't be spending time with this Christmas. It might be someone they are far away from, or someone who has passed away. They are also asked to upload a photo of something which reminds them of that person. They can write about a shared memory, about what they'll be doing for Christmas, or just what it is they love about that person.

This is me kicking things off.

I wanted to write to you and say even though I may not be there, even though it may seem I am caught up in my life back home, even though I may not write every day, I have not forgotten you. Sometimes, I wish I could.

If I could forget you, I could complain more. I could buy more meaningless things. I could block out what is happening in the rest of the world. I could enjoy a gelati on the beach without wondering what you were doing and wishing you were here to soak everything up with me. I could block out the fact so many people don't have the privileges, opportunities and love that is available to me. I could forget how inspiring, selfless, determined and generous you are and just get on with the job of being a cynical self-absorbed mzungu (white person).

I wish you could all come to my place for Christmas. I know Jo and Beth have never been to the beach, and I'd still love to teach you to swim. You must be nearly due to have number three, and I would love to give you a holiday, and send you off to a foot masseuse and a spa. I will never forget how much Erin had to go through to organise a massage for you. You never had the time to leave the children long enough to leave the house, so she had to bring the masseuse to you. And then you still proceeded to scrub the floors, bring us tea and cook for everyone with two children running around your feet and claiming to be 'helping' you whilst really throwing rice, knives and soapy water from one side of the kitchen to the other.

So I just wanted to let you know, I am thinking of you Christmas Day and every day, and love you and your family with all my heart.

Amy.

#AfricaTime

You know those moments when people keep saying "You should write a blog"... and you think about it, and then you don't, and then it's too late. Well I'm in Africa. And you're never too late for anything in Africa.


I'm not sure why I booked a ticket to Uganda. I'm not sure why Valence's email stood out to me from all the others. But as soon as I signed up to become the social media coordinator for the Youth Focus Africa Foundation, something pretty phenomenal happened. A man called Joseph Kony became a household name, people suddenly had a clue where Uganda was, and the relationship between social media and non-government organisations in developing nations was scrutinised as much as the relationship between Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. 


So, I promise I looked for Kony. I peeked under at least one banana leaf. But I couldn't find him. 


Instead, I found a nation full of gratitude. Of hope. Of beauty. Of exploitation. Of inequality. Of corruption. Of smiles. And of generosity.


These are the letters I have written to my grandmothers.




** For more photos from my trip and to connect with the Youth Focus Africa Foundation, please visit:


My Facebook site: www.facebook.com/amyjoanne.marshall
YOFAFO's Facebook site: www.facebook.com/YOFAFO

White Interlude.

Before I head into Part #2 of the 'Booty and the Bomb' blog, I wanted to introduce you to one of my favourite writers, and a concept known as the White Saviour Industrial Complex.

In March this year, just more than a week after the Kony2012 video went viral, Teju Cole tweeted a seven-part explanation of this complex, and took an articulate and witty lead on the backlash against this video made by Invisible Children.

In a follow-up to my blog about child sponsorship (you may recognise it as the one about my expanding "Kanina Kanene"), and in the lead-up to a blog about Ugandan politics and the media (and a safari which may see me bump into some hippos) I am copy-and-pasting this American-Nigerian writer's definition of this complex as some food for thought.

"1- From Sachs to Kristof to Invisible Children to TED, the fastest growth industry in the US is the White Savior Industrial Complex.

2- The white savior supports brutal policies in the morning, founds charities in the afternoon, and receives awards in the evening.

3- The banality of evil transmutes into the banality of sentimentality. The world is nothing but a problem to be solved by enthusiasm.

4- This world exists simply to satisfy the needs—including, importantly, the sentimental needs—of white people and Oprah.

5- The White Savior Industrial Complex is not about justice. It is about having a big emotional experience that validates privilege.

6- Feverish worry over that awful African warlord. But close to 1.5 million Iraqis died from an American war of choice. Worry about that.

7- I deeply respect American sentimentality, the way one respects a wounded hippo. You must keep an eye on it, for you know it is deadly."  **

My thoughts about the irresponsibility of the Kony2012 campaign, could fill 100 pages. Its inaccuracies, its lack of consultation with Ugandan people, its promotion of the justification of militarisation in a nation whose democracy is already under threat from such ideas. And I whole-heartedly agree with Teju Cole about the way Westerners support militarisation and conflict in areas such as Haiti, but will fill their do-good egos by donating when there is an earthquake in the region. However, while acknowledging Cole is mainly pointing out the hypocrisy of it all, I wonder if (in this particular White Saviour argument) he fails to recognise the separation of long-term and immediate needs and the value of small community-driven grass-roots approaches.

My questions are:

1. Are all of our attempted contributions to the smoothing out of inequalities in the world, merely selfish acts in the pursuit of a "big emotional experience" to validate our privilege?

2. If it makes a positive difference, does it matter if part of the motivation was a selfish?

3. Do all acts of kindness carry a selfish element, in our desire for the reward of seeing a smile on someone's face and feeling their gratitude? How do we give without receiving, and do we have to to make a positive contribution to the world around us?

4. How does the everyday person, who does not have time to research the political / social / cultural context of every nation in the world, make a responsible and educated contribution?

5. Many volunteers who come to Uganda, and other parts of the world, spend the majority of their time travelling and simply playing with children. There are no doubt more productive ways for them to contribute to the world around them, and an element of them simply looking for an opportunity to 'grow as an individual' and put something on their CV. But if they make a connection, learn something about human rights and wealth distribution inequalities, become more open-minded and open-hearted human beings, and have a broader perception of their place in the world, is it worth it?

6. How do people living in the developing world tell their stories, from their own perspective, and have them heard, when Invisible Children can flood Twitter while these people often don't speak English or even have a light globe?

7. How do we do a better job of educating people not just about the world's needs, but the reasons behind those needs? And if Robinah is one of the world's 'needs', and money and advocacy would be more effectively directed at the source of why she doesn't have a pen or a pair of shoes, do we ignore her immediate needs?

8. And most importantly - since I am ego-driven, self-conscious and use technology starting with 'i' (which explains my perception about where the centre of the universe is) - do you think I am a victim / perpetrator of Cole's Complex?! :)



**http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2012/03/the-white-savior-industrial-complex/254843/