Theft

As if the events of the last 3 years weren’t hard enough, there were the pictures I took and kept and the videos capturing the moments I barely had time to savor of the twins’ birth and first 3 years. The pictures made the memory of the struggle so much easier to bear. Those videos captured the joyful moments. Two little girls in hyper mode before bedtime, hanging onto the crib rail for dear life as they jumped vigorously for 3 minutes, without missing a beat. If they would have let go, they would have launched themselves to the ceiling. Another video of double bath time in the double kitchen sink. They were 1.5 and auntie had just taught them how to splash water and they were both splashing as hard as they could. Another video of two yr old twins singing, “Ah-dee, Duh Day do do. Ah-dee Duh Day doo do.” One girl is seated at the dining table the other, Glory, is standing and swaying from side to side as was always her habit.

Even up to a month after the computer and my data was stolen; I could barely allow myself to think about it. My heart always sank at the thought and I felt hysterical crying welling in my chest at the loss. I had been sifting through the pictures and videos I had hurriedly downloaded for 3 years. In the 2 months I was in Uganda, I had been playing the videos and sorting the pictures, enjoying them and when I could, I showed a few to my husband who had missed the entire 3 years.  I had been preparing them for the “big download” and I had just discovered that my 1T. back-up hard drive had either been also stolen or had never made it in the bags going to Uganda. There was so much chaos at my house in the packing, it may not have made it. The other hard drive on which I had backed up all other photos from 15 years up to my pregnancy with the twins, somehow no longer has its cord to hook it up to the computer. It didn’t make it to Uganda either.

Since the loss, I have taken only a handful of pictures of the girls growing up. I am afraid to savor any such memories. I am certain they will also be stolen. I also have no way to save them since my husband’s computer has zero memory left for such things and it has 0% battery life and is ready to succumb to its viruses any day. My life has changed in that I no longer feel I can savor any material thing. It is not a irrational thought especially in the light of my particular circumstance. I am not sure how many times someone entered the house in which we first lived to steal various things. My Cybershot camera was the first thing to disappear. Likely, the maid assisted in disappearing that item. The toys I brought for the girls slowly disappeared, piece by piece. Then there was the big heist. Where the modem, the laptop, the cell phones disappeared in the middle of the night. It was soon after the caretaker’s 10 yr old son came and called my daughters by name, while they were watching their favorite movie. He was invited into the livingroom of our living quarters by my 3 yr old daughters. Big mistake. There is no reason for a 10 yr old boy to be interested in the things of 3 yr old girls. He was there to look and see what was available for the taking.

When my husband asked me in a sleepy stupor where the computer was, I flipped out. What I had on the computer, flashed before my eyes. I ran outside in the dark and began running down the deserted street. My husband close behind begging me to stop that this was dangerous. I was beginning to feel hysterical. I replied, “I don’t care, my life is on that computer, let them kill me too, I don’t care.”

I was completely distraught. Even the police wondered, why should I care so much about this, “Things get stolen here all the time.” Then I began to learn about how in this large city of many people, the odds are in your favor for getting picked out of the crowd by an opportunist. This is could very well be an every day occurrence. Many people’s entire day is spent wandering the streets looking for targets like me to steal from. Where I lived, I could go the whole day without seeing one white person, so that made me the neighborhood target. Every day someone would try to steal from me wither it was the gas station attendant. The hip looking guy who followed me home, making sure he made friends with my girls. The maid. It doesn’t take much to calculate that if someone succeeded in stealing every day, soon I wouldn’t have anything left. The worst part of that is that even if I had nothing, people wouldn’t believe me and they would still try to steal or force something out of me. That by far was the worst feeling.

After the computer got stolen, we had repeated night time break in attempts. I would hear someone try the door. I would get up put on my glasses then hear footsteps run away as I approached the door. Sometimes there would be multiple attempts per night. They would pop the locks on the van and search through it, leaving the door ajar. I was so frazzled by the morning, I was about to go crazy. Even my husband was having nightmares of armed robbery. I would hide in my house all day, when I was there. I would often nap because the sleep was so sparse at night. Then there was the night again. From 2 am to 4 am were the attempt at theft hours. By 5 am, I would be wide awake and would use that opportunity to get outside and walk the neighborhood. I didn’t want to be seen as white. The fewer eyes, the better. During the day, I drove with the windows up in my van so nobody could see my color.

I talk about this candidly so that I can remember. I never wanted to hid my experiences or put too much of a theoretical framework on my encounters. Part of why I wanted to wait to fundraise or ask for missionary support was because of the way supporters alter the stories. When someone gets sent to the third world, as a missionary, the stories that come back are edited. Supporters may want to hear a particular toward success story but also those in the field may have skewed perceptions on what others might want to hear. I want to avoid all of that and as much as possible to see with naked eyes.

While some may think it disrespectful to the culture, or even racist, for me to talk so much about the theft problem, I find that I experience an aspect of it on a daily basis. Some may think it forgivable that this or that gets stolen. After all, I am rich compared to the person who stole this or that. This is a fallacy but also, it is impossible to live responsibly on a budget, if the very your work you are doing is disrupted by theft. Theft in general is a problem self identified by more reflective people in the Ugandan culture. I was listening to Ugandan radio and heard one commentator speak frankly about the necessity for instilling within people a value for creating and working for the common good as opposed to continually looking for a way to steal. “When one gets hired, they immediately perceive this to be an opportunity to steal.” I find this kind of thinking to be beyond crazy but the majority engage in it. I don’t quite know how to handle or think about the race issue added to the theft issue, however, it would be very helpful to have a serious discussion with someone about how this is or is not racism.

Perspectives on Gun Violence in East Africa.

I have long been aware of the violence in various places in Africa, before coming here. I just read this article yesterday, however. I must say, I have a different perspective on the entire state of affairs from the perspective of having lived here now for some months. This is exactly the place where I would love to hang out and take a swallow of the familiar in.

I go to Nakumatt (one of the stores that was shot up) all the time. My girls beg to go there. It is the Target/Kmart of East Africa.

http://foreignpolicy.com/2015/09/20/nairobi-kenya-westgate-mall-attack-al-shabab/

While I believe in the 2nd Amendment and it generally a good idea for Americans to be able to be armed to protect themselves, it appears to be a worse idea in light of recent school shooting and other such events. Ultimately, America will have to decide for itself whether or not they retain this particular out-living of the second amendment.

But for other nations, like Uganda, who's population and social dynamics are very different, I would venture to say that if a vast populace of common citizens were to own guns like US citizens, Uganda, perhaps even Africa, would turn into a blood bath. Various aspects of this article hint at the disaster in store for the common citizen to be armed.

(1) In the 2nd to last paragraph, it is said that the Kenyan army looted the place. They were caught on closed circuit TV. They also had a friendly fire shoot-out with the special anti-terrorist team in the mall because each team didn't know the other existed or was a part of the rescue operations. Lack of coordination was a culprit in making the situation worse than it had to be. Having hired guns who's priority is to capitalize personally whenever and wherever possible was a further insult to injury. That these factors foiled this rescue operation is a no brainer. This is modus operandi for most encounters in daily life in Uganda. Uncoordinated gun power is extremely deadly as a few victims of friendly fire found out. Further, so is a hired gun who has ulterior aspirations.

(2) There were a few lone responders who's ways of conducting themselves is comparable to those who carry in the US for protection and to exercise their 2nd Amendment rights. Nura was one of those people. But these type of free thinking self propelled individuals are few and far between in countries who's histories include colonization and dictators. The population redefines the term sheeple. Nura's first encounter at the mall included running into a group of armed soldiers "standing around." I've been through the security checks at Nakumatt. At best they are a joke. someone looks around in your car and waves you through. The security guards holding guns look like teenagers and occasionally beg for cash. This is merely another image of what guns look like in the hands of the average population in East Africa. Not to devalue these people, they have their gifts, however, independent thinking and creative problem solving and initiative is a rare commodity in a population beaten into submission by colonizing and dictatorial forces.