Before leaving for Uganda in February, several of my co-workers in Minnesota had joked about the snow following me to Gulu. If they had to deal with it, how come I should be lucky enough to get away? I laughed and brushed it off as a silly comment – it would never snow in the middle of Uganda.

Yet after being here for just over a month now, I’ve been reminded that the perceptions we entertain about how a new experience will transpire or what a foreign place will be like aren’t always correct. Could it ever snow on Kampala Road? Will going to northern Uganda be scary? Will I succeed in the tasks I’m responsible for? Will there be enough toilet paper?

Not being new to travel, I am certainly aware that an element of surprise is always possible on a journey such as this. And it is these surprises, these altered perceptions amongst the vibrant life after destruction in Acholiland that keep my fellow interns and I inspired, encouraged, and truly appreciative of being a part of Invisible Children.

I had perceived living in a war-torn area to be desolate and chaotic. I had perceived the IDP camps to be filled with children harboring deep misery and despair in their eyes. I had perceived every day to be a bit of a struggle between the inevitability of illness, the deliciously hot afternoons, and the internet, power and water only being available if you think good thoughts long enough.

I had perceived wrong.

Gulu is actually in a relative state of calm at the moment, and we can all hope that it develops into permanent peace. That is not in any way to say that danger and anguish cease to exist in the periphery of reality, but a sense of precious hope is beginning to permeate the area. When asked how his morning was, a local boda-boda (motorbike “taxi”) driver replied that it was very good because he felt that peace was beginning to return to his home.

And it’s true; the IDP camps are still heavily painted with depravity and confusion. After all, many people continue to die each week from a multitude of problems resulting from the mere existence of these “protective villages” (namely disease, famine, and the effortless destruction of huts due to their proximity and the erratic nature of fire). Yet the camps are also saturated with resilience and love, endurance and community. There are growing families, small independent business owners that have benefited from creative initiatives such as IC’s Bracelet Campaign (as well as the Savings and Investment Curriculum that goes along with it) and there is now hope; a hope of returning home and to school, slowly maturing into actual movement.

Further still, picture this: you’ve accepted the fact that the comforts of U.S. living are simply not available. You’ve come to terms with the knowledge that the ease and basic amenities of life from home were lost the second you felt your softest t-shirt turn into a plank of wood after one softener-less bucket wash. But when you can find Heinz ketchup, Cadbury chocolate, and Tang at a corner market, you’re still in a pretty luxurious place as far as I’m concerned.

Have I been surprised by some of these realizations? Yes. Have I been overwhelmed? Of course. Have I been scared and thrilled and lonely and comforted and excited and intrigued and moved? You bet ‘cha.

It is these reactions to our experiences, the transformation our of perceptions that help us better understand why we’re here, and who for.

We have witnessed the vicious effects of war bestowed upon the souls of this land, and we have been motivated. We have faced difficulties in attempting to communicate respectfully across linguistic, behavioral, and social boundaries, and we have been educated. We have observed the revolutionary achievements that Invisible Children and its unbelievable staff and uncontrollable advocates continue to stimulate. And we have been inspired.

From the acceptance of new impressions to the continuation of old appreciations, the chance to act upon issues that awaken us, and the privilege to share our ideas, we have all come across one of life’s greatest opportunities. We’re not here to save anyone. We’re here to reach out as human beings, correct our misconceptions, and share a bit of ourselves in hopes that the future might be better than we could have ever imagined.

While driving North from Kampala to Gulu last week, several IC staff members witnessed a powerful hailstorm that blanketed the entire landscape with whiteness. So to my co-workers at home: yes – it does snow in the middle of Uganda, and its nice to know that traces of home are never really far behind.

–Aly Lubov, Public Relations Intern

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