What does institutional racism destroy?

Tonight I sit at my computer after an excessively hard week at work. I was somewhat demoted at work because I did the right thing for the institution I work for. As many might know, doing the right thing never results in doing the right thing for yourself.

I cry because I am forced to choose between keeping my black family together or keeping my black family together. After 2 weeks of riots, which deeply effected me, and Covid, I am faced with the choice of sending my children to Uganda or sending my children to Uganda and suffering the loss alone, alone.

I sit and run the numbers at the computer. I cry. I think about work and the insensitive, frivoulous existence of my superiours, colleagues and their concerns and I wonder, as I cry and my children hear me as they are trying to fall asleep.

They ask, "Mommy, are you crying?"

They come to see.

They hug me and return to their bed and cry by themselves.

It puts a new meaning on the phrase, "Institutional racism has had it's knee on the neck of the black family for 400 years."

This black family was just the unlikely target of a stray bullet and we've been targetted for 10 years and destroyed becuse we look too much like the target.

The greatest joys.

The greatest joys of being in Uganda.

  

Seeing Stephen. Being with my husband. Being together as a family. I worked on my hand held because work never stops. I helped him wash and cook and take care of Gracie and Glory and do the next project on the compound. Nothing spectacular but just home life. Every ounce of togetherness felt like life. 

When time is to be had in abundance: 365 days a year—I’m sure I would experience home life much differently. But when it is rationed to 10 days every 1-2 years, one is forced to take in the experience like a perfectly flavored cup of coffee. Sip slowly. Breathe in the air that calms the soul. If a coffee ground happens to grit between your teeth, pick it out and continue to enjoy. Being a family together poured a sense of home into my soul.

My daughters who are seven now, experience the separation much differently than I do. After the first five year separation, The airport meeting was filled with joy. For me, airport greetings and goodbyes are now filled with tears. My daughters are always saying, “Mommy, don’t cry now.” Yet when they spent the summer with daddy at age 6, Saying goodbye to Mommy at the airport was a cry all the way home ordeal. 

Being a family together poured a sense of home into my soul. If that wasn’t enough, there was a sense of fulfillment and accomplishment that looked back at me from the two years of hard work and agony working with my staff at the school. When I said my goodbyes two years ago I had no idea if anyone cared or would ever remember me. Yet they remembered. They more than remembered. And 2 remembered me in a way I would have never imagined: they remembered me as someone they could have a relationship with!

Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday.

Some nights.

I always joked lightheartedly about the suitcases of protection that are toted to Africa. You give stuff in exchange for life allowance. When I saved 15,000 and toted that over to Uganda the first time I went. It likely saved our lives--but didn't improve our standard of living at all. Sad but true.

In the more rural places of Uganda, family is interested in what can be exchanged for mere existence. What is this muzungu good for? For the stuff they bring? For shiny beads?

Good questions.

Just hope not to die for stupid things the next time I attempt to reunify my family.

Why I love you.

Why I loved you when I loved you, is subject to interpretation.

You were not my wow factor. You were ordinary. You worked hard. You had a winsome personality. ... Until of course, we were us. Then no longer was the winsome... Only the silent stoic man of thought and overwhelm.

Should I have married somebody who was extraordinary and larger than life. Should you have been the wow factor that was beyond expectations? Certainly that would’ve helped some things but it would have hindered others.

I did not need someone who was all that. I just needed somebody who was ordinary and traditional in the best of ways.

The Secret Mission

Today I post a movie I made of Gracie. We watched Undocumented, a series on Netflix. The girls came and watched also. I sometimes don't know how to feel because years ago, I wept alone. Now I weep with those who I identify with. I weep with my children. I weep for lost children. I weep for people who's lives are consumed by paperwork, immigration legalities instead of meaningful work.

I thought that we would be much further along in the process now but we aren't and my daughters are beginning to construct their world perceptions around our reality.

Here's Gracie's take on the plans we should carry out to get our Daddy back.

Today, I hate my birthday!

I’m tired of living alone with my kids. I’m tired of making absolutely every single meal and washing every piece of clothing and cleaning every corner of my house all by myself. At times I forget the important things because the list of important things to do is so long that I can only manage about 50% of it. Last month one of the things that fell off the list was figuring out when to take my car in for an oil change. I failed to do so, now I have a vehicle that has engine failure.  I burned up the engine.  I can’t figure out when to do my taxes. I’m not sure if I’ve paid all my bills at the beginning of this month.

Today is my birthday.  And I hate it. Nobody is bringing me flowers. Nobody is bringing me presents. Nobody is initiating any kind of celebration.  I just want my husband with me today to do these things for me, with me.  I walked 2 blocks with my daughters to the local restaurant and had a birthday lunch. Then Glory cleaned our bedroom up and brought me up and showed me this birthday present surprise she had for me. I think God I have these little people in my life who will only grow to be more of a blessing and who will soothe the sorrow I carry with me beneath the surface.