Four Stories of Adaptation

     Spending an extensive amount of time in a developing country makes you appreciate the human capacity to adapt.  However, living in a refugee settlement leaves you blown away by it.  I could tell stories of adaptation in Uganda and the Nakivale Settlement for days, but here, I'll share just four.
     We'll start with my story.  When I first arrived and moved into our house in Entebbe I was incredibly uncomfortable.  For the first week I used my own hand sanitizer because the soap occasionally had ants on it.  I also refused to walk around the house without sandals on and certainly never showered barefoot.

Our shower platform in Nakivale

     In my second week I was sent to Jana in the Ssese Islands.  For three days and two nights I slept in a small room with a bed, a small lantern (no electricity, of course), and a jerrycan and basin for washing.  My first night I spilled the jerrycan on my dirt floor covering my room in mud.  Despite feeling incredibly dirty and walking miles around the island each day, I did not shower during my stay.  While I started being comfortable falling asleep to the symphony of squeaking cockroaches, I couldn't bring myself to take a bucket shower in a small communal space I wasn't convinced was fully enclosed.  My trip culminated in a three hour boat ride back to Uganda's mainland seated on top of bags of Nile Patch and Sun Fish that were being sent to market.  When we returned home I threw my shoes off and took a long shower without even considering what was on the soap.
     Now that we're staying in the camp I've learned to adapt yet again.  I have the same room setup as on Jana but thankfully, with cement floors.  I had to clear my bed of a frog and some six-inch centipede type bug when I first arrived and am now completely comfortable sharing my room with critters (I've even named the three lizards that live with me).  For two weeks, my only option has been to shower behind a sheet using a jerrycan and basin, so that's what I do.  And after my first time shrieking under the cold water and laughing while Rania (my co-worker) blocked the entrance from the men that hang around the hotel, I'm now completely comfortable and actually look forward to my shower after a long day in the dust.  I've gotten used to eating the same foods day after day (though I still don't enjoy it much) and am unfazed when the electricity flickers off during dinner.  Despite the rough conditions it has started to feel like home.

Rania attempting her own laundry

     Now the house in Entebbe that I used to protect my feet from offers the luxuries of hot showers and running water.  Ants on the soap or even ants on my plate or silverware go nearly unnoticed.  Everything is relative, and compared to Nakivale, Entebbe is paradise.

     My co-worker Rania has been forced to adapt as well.  In her home country of Australia she takes three showers a day.  In Uganda I've seen her last three days without a shower.  At the beginning of her stay she insisted she would never hand wash her own laundry, but about three weeks ago I found her seated in the backyard infront of her basin scrubbing away.
     Before coming to Nakivale, Rania and I took pride in how far our standards had been lowered and how well we had adapted to the conditions in Uganda.  However, we are not alone in this story, and the circumstances and tales of adaptation and perseverance we have heard from refugees in the settlement have been humbling to say the least.

     The first refugee story I will tell is of an Eritrean woman we have become quite close friends with.  She left Eritrea in 2008 in order to protect her four children from being forced to fight in the military (an indefinite obligation of every child, male or female, when they finish secondary school or reach the age of sixteen).  She was a lawyer in Eritrea with a beautiful home and a summer house near the water.  She had a driver that brought her children to well respected schools and she continues to rave about how clean and cute the city of Asmara is.  This life is in complete contrast to the one they live in Nakivale.
     In the settlement they live in a small home made of mud bricks.  They soak and scrub their feet every night to fight off "jiggers" - microscopic bugs that enter through the toes and eat away the skin - and she told us that, "in Eritrea we would have to fight other people, in Uganda we have to fight the land".  She has used her education to her advantage and is now employed as an interpreter (she speaks English, Italian, Arabic, Amharic, and Tigrinya).  She has also opened a small tea shop infront of her home.  Despite her respectable employment, there are still few opportunities for her children.  They are required to walk twenty minutes to and from school where they are often taught in a language they don't understand.  For her eldest daughter who will be moving on to secondary school next year, there are few options.  The closest secondary school in the camp is a two hour walk away and the private boarding school in neighboring Mbarara is incredibly expensive.  She is struggling with what to do for her.

Eritrean hospitality in Nakivale - Jabina, popcorn, and hombasha

     Since first interviewing this woman we have visited her numerous times.  Each time we show up, unannounced, she, along with two other women, and their children, welcome us as if we were dignitaries.  They bring out the pots and vessels needed to make Jabina - a delicious Eritrean ginger coffee - and chat with us for hours as they cook us fresh popcorn and serve us at least three cups of coffee.  While we originally felt special for being received with such ceremony, we soon discovered that this was their culture.  Every guest was treated this way.  When this woman earned some extra money by interpreting in Mbarara, she would use it to treat the community to sodas and the children to treats.  The lifestyle in Nakivale is not what she or her family is used to.  There is no summer home and they don't have a driver, but she takes pride in maintaining the cleanliness of her home and in taking care of her community.
     Despite two of her children being American citizens (born while she was married to an American man), she has not been granted resettlement in the United States or anywhere else.  As citizens, her two children have been welcomed to America, but will be orphans upon arrival.  She has seen many Eritrean community members move into the settlement and move out to Australia or Canada and she bids them all a loving farewell as she returns home and hopes for resettlement herself.  In the midst of what is one of the most drastic changes in lifestyle we've heard, this woman takes pride in what she does and finds joy in helping those who need her.  She and her family have adapted and have learned to find happiness and hope in Nakivale.  

     The final story I will tell is one I'll never forget.  We had the privilege of working with the female refugee of the year and found that the title was well deserved.  This woman, who is 61 years old, left Mogadishu in 2006 where she led a relatively luxurious life.  She fled the city with her twelve children after being widowed in the war.  Her already horrifying situation became even more nightmarish when she was separated from all twelve of her children while running away from gunfire in the bush.  In the past six years she has utilized the International Committee of the Red Cross numerous times to try and locate them, but to no avail.  Now she lives alone in her modest home in Nakivale.
     I cannot begin to imagine what it feels like to wake up every morning under a UNHCR tarp, thousands of miles from home, with no idea whether or not your children are alive.  She told us, "Sometimes I think, God, will I die here and not see my children?".  This sentiment was what I expected, and reflected the way I assume I would feel; paralyzed by despair.  Then she made an important addition, "But I trust God".  She has faith, and she has persevered.

Making Nakivale feel like home

     Despite the most dire of situations, this woman is the most generous and appreciative of people.  She understands that if she sulks idly, she will die.  So she has dedicated all of her time to assisting the Somali and overall refugee community.  She is a Somali counselor, and in the past six years, has become a certified HIV/AIDS community worker, child protection worker, health moderator, and UN interpreter (she speaks Somali, English, and Italian).  She is also the only chairWOMAN we've met in the camp.  It is nearly impossible to visit her during the day because she is always out somewhere, shuffling through the dust in her black flip flops, gathering clothes for a new arrival or bringing someone's case directly to the UN offices.  Nearly everyone in the camp, regardless of nationality, knows and loves this woman.  She is comfortable in her small home and has made it her own, surrounding it with beautiful flowers and a thriving garden.  When you speak with her, there is no doubting how much she misses her children - her eyes are filled with grief when she mentions them - but it is also clear that she has embraced her new life and has decided to, as my college coach used to say, "go forth with alacrity".

     Living in Nakivale has highlighted the human capacity to adapt.  But importantly, it has demonstrated how joyful life can be when you make the best of your situation and focus on helping and building community with others.  We have worked in the camp for three weeks now and I fall asleep each night hoping to forget some of the awful stories of abuse, loss, and suffering that we hear.  Yet when we meet individuals like these two women, I also try my best to remember their stories and hope to leave Nakivale transformed by them.  If there is anything I will bring home to America with me, it is the joy they have for life, despite their circumstances, and the purpose they find in serving the people around them.