Exodus

I am undeniably a United States citizen. Sometimes my father looks at me, and shakes his head. "How did you get so American?" he'll ask.

Sorry, Dad. You kind of made me here.

I was always aware of Sudan and this separate, foreign background, but my life is many other things.


The Gratuitous Autobiography

My first memory is going to the supermarket and getting a bag of gumdrops from the clerk. I wonder if she still remembers that, too. When I was a little girl, I used to pick up Eucalyptus leaves in our back yard in San Pedro and put them into a soda bottle to collect the smell. Eucalyptus is still one of my favorite scents, actually. I grew up wanting a dog, but for the longest time our family wouldn't get one. Dad wanted to save the money we'd be spending on food and veterinary care to send to our family in Sudan. You really can't oppose that, but the smaller pets we did wind up adopting -- mostly lizards -- just weren't the same. Finally, during my senior year in high school, Mom fell in love with a little golden Boxer puppy at a pet store, and that turned out to be the ultimate breaking point. Her Royal Highness the Princess Titania is a Labrador / Boxer mix, and she absolutely rules our family. Won't drink unless you turn on a water faucet for her. Won't sleep unless you tuck her into bed. But she has been enormously loyal and a fantastic playmate, and I think Tania is the prettiest thing on four paws.

What else should you know about me? In high school, I was a model student. On the varsity swim team, in the drama club, lots of volunteer work with the Methodist church across the street, straight As. I wound up going to UCLA where I discovered nightclubs, the Santa Monica pier, and (oh yeah) academics. My four best friends were a poet, a doctor, a dancer, and a 6'2" gay man who might have been a lion wearing human skin. I was pretty happy, then.

After college I went into journalism, as mentioned in my first post. Life as a copy editor and page designer mostly consists of sleeping until noon, schlumping in to work, working until midnight, gorging on In-N-Out cheeseburgers, and playing video games until oblivion's embrace at 4 a.m. In Philadelphia everything is roughly the same, except that there is no In-N-Out, and you neglect to go to jazz clubs instead of neglecting to go to the beach.

I've never been good with relationships. I have a beagle and a condo. I think about things like book sales, or movie times. At my weight, the American Heart Association says I will die of cardiac arrest before I turn 75. I am relatively content with all of the above.


Open My Eyes

But there is always this extenuating factor in my life; always this memory of my father. I remember how hard he cried when we found out that Grandmother had passed away. I remember how, when my uncle died, dad stayed perfectly composed but lost most of his hair within a matter of weeks. I remember his stories about the barking lion, and the hippo that he once accidentally stepped on when he was crossing a river. And I want to fix things for him, want to go to Omar al-Bashir and work out some sustainable development plan that will unite and pacify the people of Sudan, will lead everyone to health and prosperity, or peaceable secession, or whatever is necessary to end the conflict that has now spanned generations.

Studying law might just give me the opportunity to indulge that fantasy -- at least in part. This semester I am taking a class in public international law, and after only four weeks I can already see direct, practical applications for our readings on self determination, the weight of regional custom, rights of indigenous peoples, and international systems of justice. What is more, my angel of an adviser has arranged for me to go to Uganda where I will be working with the country's coalition for the International Criminal Court, and then traveling north to a large refugee town called Gulu, where I will help a university implement a curriculum that a group of Penn students and I have designed.

It isn't Sudan, but it's darn close and much more manageable. Uganda borders the south of Sudan, and in fact some tribes in the southern periphery split across the border. The northern region of Uganda has been torn by civil conflict of its own for approximately twenty years, largely along ethnic lines. Before she was removed from editorial writing, my friend Carolyn wrote a truly fantastic series in the Philadelphia Inquirer that gives a simple explanation of the situation; you can read it here. To give a brief description, though, imagine thousands dead, more than a million displaced from their homes, children forced into slavery as soldiers and prostitutes, graphic acts of violence like amputating lips, and collapsing public infrastructure. I will write more about Uganda's situation soon, but at the moment I am rushing so I can get back to my homework.

The country is ripe for sociopolitical change. Not that I would have any particular influence, but I hope that working with the Coalition for the International Criminal Court will ultimately help to relieve municipal affairs. I've had a lot of fears about going to Africa -- malaria, land mines, isolation -- but the work, and my father, and the hope for any little change at all makes any other concern insignificant.

Still, you should have heard the call when I told Dad that I was going to Uganda:

"You're going alone?"

"Um, yeah. I mean, you could come visit."

"This is Africa. You know they have bugs in Africa, right?"

"... Yes, Daddy."

I love my father. He is the sweetest man alive. Always taking care of me. (And by "taking care" I mean "teasing.")

The preparations have already begun. I have to renew my passport, I have to get a visa. That is an adventure all by itself; I will describe that comedy later, too.


Some Girls Buy Shoes

Yesterday I went to Student Health Services and blew $260 on the six required immunizations that I didn't already have. Meningitis, polio, flu, yellow fever, Hepatitis A, typhoid ... Both arms are throbbing up and down; and yes, I do feel like a pincushion. An expensive pincushion. I'm still trying to decide whether or not to get the rabies vaccine; that's another $500+, and not something I can really afford on a student budget -- although I suppose I could apply for another loan. Oh well. I'll figure that out, later.

I also had a lovely discussion with the travel consultant about malaria pills, prices, and effects they might have on me in particular with my quirky history of clinical anxiety and depression. I have my prescription for multiple courses of antibiotics, too. Just call me a walking chemical treatment.

I worry about leaving my dog with Mom and Dad; I worry that the little guy will be depressed. I worry about money -- Lord knows I don't have enough to do this; I'm going to drop another $135 to expedite my passport renewal, and then I have to pay for the visa. The university granted me a fellowship, but that only covers $4,500, and I've already spent close to $500 of that without even buying a plane ticket.

But you know, I can't wait. This was meant to happen. I will study criminal law and human rights; two of my favorite subjects at school thus far. And what a setting! Who knows what I will see and explore. Who knows who I will meet. I can't wait to explore Kampala, and I hope to make friends for life in Gulu.

But I won't do any of that well if I can't concentrate on my homework. Sigh. I guess I'd better get back to it.