Recovering from the Lord's Resistance Army

This blog was written for class--as you may be able to tell from the lack of explatives. 

In the late 1980s, Joseph Kony formed the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA) in northern Uganda. Operating as a cult-like rebel group, the LRA rapes, tortures, and murders both soldiers and civilians. Kony built his army by kidnapping children and forcing them to kill their family and friends, in order to eliminate their incentive to run away. To date, the LRA has murdered over 2,400 civilians, abducted 3,000 adults and children, and displaced more than 400,000 Africans from their homes.

After Kony fled Uganda in the mid-2000s, most media attention concerning the LRA shifted to other parts of Africa. The country has been largely forgotten in recent years--although it continues to suffer the aftermath of the rebel group’s atrocities. 

This raises questions regarding how a country can possibly expect to recover from such terrible violence. What happens after the UN peacekeepers stop providing food and shelter? How should we care for child soldiers and victims of rape after they are recovered from the rebels? And how can this recovery possibly take place amidst such extreme levels of poverty?

One response is the creation of rehabilitation centers and schools to serve the LRA’s victims. Our class had the unique opportunity to visit and tour one such school, located in the small town of Lira.

The students here look like regular teenagers--they smile, laugh, and flirt with each other. They live on campus, attend classes from 5:30 a.m. to 10 p.m., and receive therapy sessions. An outsider would have no idea that many of these children once committed unspeakable acts of violence. The school offers many children the most stability they have ever had--and likely will ever have--in their lives.

 

The small village of Barlonyo, about an hour north of Lira, is home to a large Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camp. These camps are filled with Ugandans who fled their homes during the height of Kony's reign of terror. LRA soldiers infiltrated the camp in 2004, killing over 200 refugees and creating hundreds of orphans.

Our class set up a makeshift health clinic in order to provide basic medical care and clothes to residents. Saying that these people have nothing is an understatement. Many were wearing little more than rags, and the toothbrushes we handed out during the clinic were treated as precious gems. They seemed to be pleased by our presence--the opportunities for work and entertainment in the camp are minimal.

Recovery in northern Uganda is slowly taking place. Residents no longer live in fear that Kony will return to abduct their children and kill their loved ones. Five years ago, this threat was a very real possibility. The towns affected by the LRA are slowly rebuilding and returning to life. Although these communities have a long road to recovery ahead of them, the process has begun.

African adventures: an intro

"The first rule in Uganda is that there are no rules."

My new friend, Charles, stated this bluntly as we sped down a two-lane dirt road toward the country's capital city of Kampala.

He was referring to the terrible traffic that cripples this city of over 11 million residents. Cars compete with giant buses, pedestrians balancing baskets of fruit on their heads, and the occasional long-horned cow for precious driving space. Motor bike taxis (called boda-bodas) with beautiful African women perched delicately on the back seat weave dangerously in and out of the street. There are no lane markers, stop lights, or sidewalks. There is only chaos.

Loud, dirty, glorious chaos.

The lack of rules and order in Uganda extends far beyond transportation. The government is terribly corrupt, and bribing must be done in order to accomplish almost anything. The amount of car exhaust and smoke hanging in the air would give an EPA employee a panic attack. The concept of time is also skewed--African time runs anywhere from one to three hours behind schedule. And the rest of the city is an abstract painting of red dirt, bits of trash, pounding music, and a constant sea of people.

This scene would no doubt be terrifying for some to witness. But the rawness of life here exhilarates me in a way that nothing ever has, or probably ever will.

My first 10 days in this very new and mysterious continent have been a whirlwind of sights, sounds, and smells. Sharing in this experience are eight other students from the University of Colorado, plus professors and staff members from the Global Livingston Institute (GLI). Our three week class is entitled "International Development in East Africa," and encompasses many facets of this highly complicated and volatile issue.

GLI's motto is "listen, think, act." A basic premise of the class is that too many solutions have been implemented in the developing world by those who acted before truly understanding the needs and capacity of the community. Of course, there are a plethora of factors as to why international aid has caused little growth in developing countries, including political instability, corruption, exploitation, colonialism, slavery, war, disease, a lack of infrastructure, holy shit I could go on but I won't. In a nut shell, we are here to identify problems, analyze the solutions being implemented, and form our own conclusions.

My time is too short--and the internet access far too slow--to detail everything I have experienced in the past two weeks. The short version is this: I have witnessed the most extreme poverty of my life in the slums of Kampala. I worked with refugees who fled from the Lord's Resistance Army in Lira--including the former child bride of Joseph Kony. I witnessed a massive dance party at a prison in Jinja. And I have been thinking deeply about my immense privilege as an American, and wrestling with white guilt, on the daily.

Hopefully I will have more time to write about my experiences in the coming days. Until then...

Spray-painted sign on a girl's school in rural Uganda

I found a baby goat! It does not look pleased..

This guy pulled the sunglasses off of my face and started modeling. Taken in the Katanga slum during a mini-health clinic we put together. 

Katanga slum, Kampala, Uganda

Street kids in Kampala

The peanut struggle is real, y'all. 

Street market... somewhere

A white rhino grazing on some delicious grass

This is the road... yeah. 

Best bad translation to date

South America Wrap-Up

"Get ready South America. I'm coming for you." I vividly remember writing this statement after purchasing my plane ticket to Peru last April.

Fast forward to early August. I was suffering through an absolutely insane 30 hour bus ride- one in which I went through all stages of fully accepting my impending death- when I realized that those words had equated to a challenge. I had accidentally provoked an entire continent, and she was showing me who was boss. 

South America 1, Keri 0. 

The last week of my journey was a mixed bag. On one hand, I had some excellent adventures. On the bus to Sucre, I met a man named Johnny. He was a PhD dropout from New Orleans, a recovering drug addict, and had spent the past year backpacking solo through Central America with a machete strapped to his back. He was adventurous, brilliant, and absolutely out of his fucking mind. We spent every day in Sucre together-- wandering through the markets, chewing copious amounts of coca leaves, and playing video games in rundown arcades with local teenagers. Life was good. 

On the other hand, my body was shutting down on me. I had developed another sinus infection, and my cough was getting worse each day. I wasn't sleeping at night, and the lack of rest made me anxious and depressed. After a few days, I knew I had to scrap my plans to visit the Bolivian salt flats--a cold, windy, and ruggedly beautiful place--in order to go home and recover. 

Although leaving a week early made me feel a bit defeated, it did not detract from the overall amazing experience I had in Peru and Bolivia. I gained a wealth of knowledge about myself and the world, which I will not attempt to spell out in detail here. This journey was the impetus for making several major changes in my life and way of thinking, and for that I will be forever grateful. 

So, after a full year, South America has been officially wrapped up. And just in time for my next adventure in Africa. Stay tuned...

The above picture, which I have entitled "The Pam and Caroline Fry Reunion Special," was taken on the sly by a random photographer in a diner outside of Atlanta. 

Dynamite, liquor and politics

So, y'all. Let me tell you something. Pardon my French, but Bolivia is fucking crazy.

Recent example: I hop on a 12 hour night bus from La Paz to Sucre. After sleeping for a few hours, I woke with a start around 4 am, realizing that the bus has stopped moving. Not thinking much of this, I drift in and out of sleep before waking two hours later to the sound of commotion. I remove my eye mask, peel back the curtains and look out the window.

The road is choked with buses, cars and trucks for as far as I can see. All are stationary. The only movement is a sea of people walking with their bags in one direction. Toward what, I have no idea. People start to get off my bus and join the exodus to this unknown destination. I realize that I am the only gringo here, and have no idea what is going on. And once everyone leaves the bus, I will be alone on an unknown road in the middle of nowhere.

Panic. It never helps in these types of situations, but this is precisely what my body tells me to do.

After taking some deep breaths, I scan the bus. I notice a group of about a dozen Chilean teenagers who I met briefly back in Rurre. In broken Spanish, I ask them what is happening. In broken English, they reply that the bridge up ahead is closed. We could either sit for hours (or days) until it is fixed, or walk to the next town over and find a new bus.

They were walking. Taking their presence as some kind of sign from a higher power, I strapped on my backpack and joined them.

The bridge was, in fact, not out. The real cause was a politically motivated roadblock, a common occurrence in Bolivia. Drunk, disgruntled workers from the local silver mines had blocked the road, and were hurling sticks of dynamite between taking shots of liquor. The rubble from the blasts was collecting in the road, making it impossible for vehicles to pass.

Joining in this journey to an unknown destination was surreal. The sun had just risen, and the temperature hovered around 30 degrees. Hundreds of people with everything from backpacks to baby carriages to bags of potatoes moved together as one against a backdrop of steep mountain peaks and piercing blue sky. Factor in the constant "BOOM!" from the dynamite blasts, and you have quite a scene.

My Chilean heroes

We walked for about a mile before finding a farmer who crammed all of us in the flatbed of his truck. Ten minutes and three Bolivianos later, we arrived in Potosi, where we caught a new bus to Sucre.

Although this was initially terrifying, I'm glad I got to experience it. It made me think about the political (in)stability of the country, and question why the minors were so upset.

Bolivia is the poorest country in South America. Bolivian miners have been exploited for generations, beginning with the Spanish, who forced them to work in the mines for next to nothing while adding the minerals they harvested to their own immense wealth.

Today their situation is not much better, with horrible working conditions (24 hour shifts, toxic fumes, silicosis) and very little pay (they only make what they harvest, which these days is not much). The average life expectancy for this profession is around 40, and over 800 children in Potosi alone work in the mines to support their families. A great documentary about this subject is "The Devil's Miner" (hint: be prepared to be depressed!)

After an almost 20 hour ordeal--the second bus blew out a tire--I arrived in Sucre in one piece. More to come...

Into the Jungle

The bus teters back and forth along an extremely narrow and winding road. To the right is a sheer, unforgiving rock face. To the left, a 1,000 foot drop into the river below. The only thing seperating the passengers of this bus from certain death is approximately 12 inches of unstable gravel road.

The bus driver--who based on our current speed only consumed cocaine during our lunch break--forces the bus into third gear as we tear down the road. At times he slams on the brakes, throws the bus into reverse, and corrects his approach into a curve.

A salesman in the front of the bus attempts to sell us a miracle drink that will, according to him, prevent prostate cancer. A teenager across the aisle blasts ¨Girls Just Want to Have Fun¨ from his mobile sterio. And I hold my breath and play Tetris to keep myself from completely losing my shit.

This, my friends, is bus travel in Bolivia.

But to be fair, this is not your average bus ride. The road connecting La Paz to Rurrenebeque is nicknamed ¨death road¨ due to the number of accidents that occur during the rainy season. During the dry season--which is right now--the road is relatively safe.

In other words, no, I have not completely lost my mind.

The vast majority of tourists pay around $100 to fly to our current desination, to bypass this grueling 18 hour journey. Only the most adventurous--or poorest--gringos take the bus.

The view leaving La Paz is absolutely spectacular. We first drive by 14,000 foot snow-capped mountains, passing vast moonscapes of multi-colored rock, dipping in and out of massive cloud banks. Slowly we start our decent into the jungle, carefully navigating through waterfalls and passing by miniscule towns along the way. During this process, the elevation drops over 3,000 meters. In a matter of hours the climate changes from bitterly cold with biting wind to the thick, humid warmth of the jungle.

Swimming in the jungle 

Rurrenebeque reminds me of a typical small village in southeast Asia. The city hums with the sound of motorbikes, which serve as the primary source of transportation. Bananas hang heavy from trees that flourish on the side of the road. Stray dogs and chickens roam in the streets freely. Leaning inside the doorways of bars, locals eye tourists curiously.


Rurre is famous for being the entrance point to Madid National Park, which boasts the most diverse ecosystem in the world. The rainforest canopy here is exquisite; thick and lush, alive with the sounds of birds and monkeys. While here we see pink dolphins, capybara, wild pigs, tarantulas, mackaws, and a plethora of very friendly monkeys (who stole our breakfast on one occasion). We swim in the river, search for anaconda, and fish for piranhas using little more than a chunk of meat and a string. Our tour guide shows us a variety of plant life, and identifies about 100 different trees that can be used as ¨natural Viagra¨. I think he has some sort of complex...

I caught a pirhana and ATE IT!

The down side to our six day jungle trip was two fold. One, you are required to take a tour to enter the jungle. I dislike tours, as I feel they are almost always boring and a waste of money (this one reaffirmed my belief). And two, the weather changed dramatically halfway through our trip. Did you know that it can get, like, really cold in the jungle? I'm talking 45 degrees and rainy. Well, this was news to me.  Luckily Johanna and I had each other to cuddle with, along with a combined 20 blankets we stole from our campsite.

So, you may be wondering if I took the ¨death road¨ back to La Paz?

Hell. No. 

Now I venture onward to the beautiful capitol city of Sucre, in eastern Bolivia. Stay tuned...

Jungle floor

Rurre at sunset

The magestic capybara, i.e. my new favorite animal

Friendly monkey

Traffic jam on the way back into town

Viva Bolivia

Forgive me, as I´ve gotten a bit off track with this blog lately. This is because 1) the internet in Bolivia is extremely slow, 2) computers are not exactly plentiful, and 3) I have been equal parts busy and lazy in recent days. So without further ado, here goes squeezing two weeks of my trip into one post...

I am happy to report that I have successfully made it to the great country of Bolivia. I met a very cool German girl named Johanna while in Cusco, and together we crossed the border to the lake city of Copacabana. We cruised into town just as the locals were performing their Sunday car blessing ritual, which consists of decorating their vehicles with flowers and trinkets, and then hosing them down with champagne. I personally like the concept, and think it should be introduced in the US:..

The picture of Lake Titicaca below was taken on a lookout above Copacabana. There is an extremely beautiful chapel on the top of the mountain (pictured left), where people from far and wide come to ask for miracles. There are several venders that sell toy versions of the things that people pray for- little cars, pots of money, toy houses- that you can purchase and leave at the alter. Another great concept, in my opinion.



Copacabana is known for Isla del Sol, an extremely small island where the Inca believe the sun god was born. There are no vehicles on the island, and only two walking paths that connect the island from north to south. One path contains Inca ruins, and the other is for locals. Unbeknownst to us, we took the locals route--and it turned out to be a great choice. Being able to witness farmers hearding alpaca, children playing, fisherman taking off for the day, and residents living their lives in such a remote town was a very cool experience. Not to mention that the view was incredible.

Isla del Sol

From Lake Titicaca, we traveled to the great city of La Paz. It is here that I finally got around to taking some Spanish classes. Johanna contacted Javier, a great teacher and awesome person, through Couchsurfing. He ended up inviting us to stay at his flat with his very cool international roomates. After being on the road for about a month, it was so nice to be in a real house (!) with a TV (!!) and best of all, hot showers (!!!)

While in La Paz, I experienced the biggest market of my life in El Alto, saw San Pedro prison (where prisoners pay for their cells and can come and go as they please), and experienced the witches market. It was there that I resisted the urge to buy some dried alpaca fetuses, which hang from almost every stall in the market. Why sell such a thing? Answer: to bury it in the ground to please the spirits before building a house. The larger the building, the bigger the offering. The tour guide said that they have heard of homeless people being buried alive as sacrifices...

Dried alpaca fetuses... yum

I was lucky enough to be in La Paz for the city´s 200 year anniversary, which we celebrated with a gaggle of Javier´s Bolivian friends. There were parades, music, fireworks, dancing in the streets, and of course lots of drinking. Think of the Fourth of July on steroids. People were drinking liquor out of the bottle, making out and sleeping on the sidewalks, and peeing everywhere. No porta potties plus thousands of drunk people equals a river of urine flowing through the streets. It was unlike anything I have ever witnessed. The night ended at 4 am at some strange underground street market where I ate one of the most delicious sandwiches of my life.

Leaving La Paz via a 17 hour, winding bus ride was a crazy experience that I will write about at a later date. Tomorrow I enter the jungle, where I will hike, boat, and swim with pink dolphins.

More to come!

Oh, the things you can pray for

La Paz Independance Day, 3 am

Sunday car blessing ritual in Copacabana

Taken at the La Paz independance day parade. Just in case you didn´t know, Bolivia doesn´t really like the US.

Beautiful street art in La Paz

The do´s and don'ts of Machu Picchu

Do assemble your crew. We started our trip with a fiery Argentinian, an adventurous Finnish girl, and yours truly. Along the way we collected two fun-loving Polish girls and a second Argentinian. Note: listening to Argentinians discuss politics can be a frightening experience, but wow are they incredible at bargaining!

Do walk the train tracks like a vagrant to Machu Picchu village. Taking this 2.5 hour hike will not only be mind-blowingly beautiful, but will save you about $100 that you would have spent taking the train.

Do not try to bribe the man at the gate to Manchu Picchu with 10 soles to let you in early. He will laugh heartily in your face, and you will feel quite silly.

Do hike Manchu Picchu Mountain. It will be a grueling two hour climb to the top, but the view will be well worth it. Note: your knees, calves and feet may not work the following day.

Do not pay for a tour guide at the ruins! Instead, just happen to follow a tour group as you walk along (note: be stealthy, as they will catch onto this pretty quickly). Making your own guesses about these big rocks and what they mean with your crew can be quite entertaining.

Do wear socks! Our poor Finnish girl found out that hiking without them can be quite painful. And asking strangers at the entrance of Manchu Picchu for an extra pair is quite odd. 

Do not, I repeat DO NOT rent a hostel room with a window overlooking the town square when any kind of party is going on! If you make this mistake, be prepared for the worst kind of repetative, synth-heavy Peruvian music you have ever heard, blared from a loudspeaker for 12 consecutive hours. Peruvians do not care that you are tired from hiking, that you have to wake up early, and that it is 2 am on a Tuesday (a WORK NIGHT!) Peruvians are the honey badgers of the southern hemisphere- they just don´t give a fuck.

Do soak your tired old ass in the hot springs after you come down from the ruins. Yes, the water looks like old bath water, and yes it smells like eggs. Just trust me.

Looking very proud at the top of Manchu Picchu Mountain

I won´t go into a lot of detail, but Manchu Picchu was an amazing experience. The Sacred Valley of the Incas in southern Peru is an extremely special place, and unlike anywhere I have ever been. I can only compare it to pictures I have seen of Tibet: towering mountains, mist rising from the valley, and vast amounts of lush, green foliage.

Three things will really stick with me from this journey:

One: walking the train tracks to Aguas Calientes, a tiny town in the valley directly below Machu Picchu. Call me crazy, but hiking along train tracks with a backpack makes you feel like a real badass. About 30 of us started the journey in the early afternoon, and arrived in the town at nightfall. The hike follows a beautiful river with amazing jungle scenery.

Two: making the hike from Aguas Calientes to the entrance of Machu Picchu. We started the journey at 4:30 am, when it was still dark. Witnessing the first bit of light starting to creep over the mountains in the Sacred Valley, and watching the mist settle over the cliffs in the distance, was an absolutely incredible sight that I will never forget.

Three: hiking Mt. Machu Picchu. I have done some hiking in my day, but wow. This one almost killed me. In total from our hostel in Aguas Calientes to the peak, we gained something like 2,000 meters. A must do.

And now, onward to Bolivia!

View from the top of Mt. Manchu Picchu 

The crew- minus an Argentinian, plus an Israeli- celebrating the 4th of July (note that I´m the only American)