WaterAid and Operakallaren Foundation

Day 1: I am composing this inaugural journal aboard Turkish Airlines en route to Istanbul, where we will disembark for a few hours before traveling to Entebbe Airport in Kampala, Uganda. Therefore, it is appropriate to share some of the initial experiences this trip has had to offer thus far.

Yesterday was a glorious, sun-soaked day in Stockholm. Only a week ago, snow fell on this Nordic masterpiece. This explains the shorts and flip-flops that dotted the city. I met up with a dear friend of mine, Stephane Dehner, and his lovely wife, Tina, at a café outside the chic Nobis Hotel Stockholm. I was treated to good wine and conversation about kids, soccer, politics, and culture. They kindly invited me to attend a dinner at Ulfsunda Castle (built in 1643). In the spirit of saying yes to opportunities, I gladly accepted this uniquely Swedish experience.

About 50 pristinely dressed business leaders spent the evening toasting birthday celebrations, the dawn of summer, and the social powers of a Saturday night. Then, as the clock turned to start another day, I found myself face-to-face with the enemy of all travel, jet lag. Nevertheless, I made new friends, observed the Swedish culture from the inside, and squeezed out about as much in two travel days as possible.

The cost of my Swedish Saturday night, coupled with jet lag, was a ‘cocktail’ of shaky legs and weary eyes.

Those wobbly appendages were revitalized, walking around the unending vastness of the Istanbul airport (one of the largest in the world). The flight to Africa, though, had an unexpected detour to Rwanda for an hour pit stop, then a mild detainment for possession of a drone by my new cinematographer friend, Daniel Spielberg, keeping us at the Ugandan airport past 5:00 a.m. local time.

Fast forward to a 3-hour nap and off to WaterAid offices for a security briefing and our traffic-filled drive to Busia on the Kenyan border.

I close this evening feeling semi-successful at riding an African bike of stories, not falling but lacking a sturdy underbelly of sound sleep. A healthy dose of pressure sits on my shoulders to find stories tomorrow that reflect the human condition and community effort to raise equitable opportunities for all sustainably. I have to trust that travel challenges have softened me up to soak in the power of those kind enough to welcome me into their world.

These initial hours have revitalized me – every corner we turn down yields a new picture of a world rich in culture and tradition. I can only hope that as I close my laptop to symbolize my tired eyes, my dreams will also portray wonderment at every turn of the night sky.

I bid everyone a pleasant evening from southeast Uganda, weary but invigorated for the days ahead.

Day 2: In my life, back home, I am about creating comfortable experiences, or at least that is the target. Cool temperatures supplied by the magnificent invention of air conditioning can often dictate where I’m going and how long I’ll ultimately stay. Yet, when I travel, I weirdly embrace the elements of discomfort only days previously denoted as intolerable. This morning I awoke to birds, not the sound of my wall (air conditioning) unit I celebrated only 5 hours ago.

Then, the power went out, and the heat was on.

After a spit-shower and a quick bite to eat, we spent time with the district chief (like a mayor) and his cabinet. The meeting set the table for the rest of the day with group prayer before formal introductions. The discussion, at first, felt boilerplate to me, staying near the topic's surface. But, as the debate continued, I felt a different note playing in my head – an overwhelming feeling of respect for the process. At each location, a prayer initiated the engagement. It felt like the repetition made sense for the local leaders, a sign of respect for their word and the word of their colleagues. The sequencing provided a blueprint to slow-walk rapport building in a very intentional, peaceful manner calling out into existence the presence of one another, for one another.

A thought-provoking experience.

One of the chief’s cabinet members, Mwesigwa Harriet, spoke with an unshakable conviction for the unending need of young girls to have facilities and resources to support healthy hygiene. She shared that countless girls will either sporadically attend a school or quit altogether during menstrual cycles because of inadequate washrooms. When the meeting ended, I turned to the country director of WaterAid and asked if we could interview Mwesigwa Harriet on camera. A quick huddle between these two powerhouse females and a decision was rendered straight away, yes. I found our cinematographer, Daniel, rapidly geared up not to lose the initial enthusiasm for the interview. I’ll keep the meat of the discussion for future viewing, but I can say that cabinet member Mwesigwa is so passionate about ‘her’ girls because, she shared, she was one of them. A teenage mother who had to leave school eventually found her way back to school and professional promise.

Back into the road warrior jeep for a primary school visit (1,800 students). The school was built in 1916 by the Roman Catholic church. Student numbers can fluctuate by the hundreds on any given day due to sanitation and wash facility challenges. The elders' meeting took place under a large mango tree with various chairs and benches organized in a square formation. Two students, one boy and one girl, each 13 years old, spoke to the group about their challenges. The group mildly intimated them but both students were stoic and confident in their respective voices.

After a drone flyover by the cameraman, we interviewed Abbe Ibrahim, co-founder of the Operakallaren Foundation, out of Stockholm. He was born in Somaliland (we would know it as Somalia) and left when he was 12. I asked him what is like to be back on the soil of his origins. His response took me aback, partly saying, “…the red soil. I remember this red soil and that one can eat the soil for nutrients.” It was a powerful statement about resources, perspective, and fully embracing one's environment for survival and resident peace.

We then proceeded to a small primary school and a healthcare facility. I am fighting against a general haze of emotional callousness - the result of compounding scar tissue that builds up over time seeing the same scene over and over.

One can either find themselves overwhelmed, numb or empowered to understand the positive impact one individual can have across cultures. I am inclined to believe we each have individual gifts that can make a difference. The developing world needs more than economic relief to stack together wins of progress.

I close this entry enjoying the rolling sounds of the air conditioner above me. Progress can be slow. Progress can be realized. Progress requires partnership.

Until tomorrow.

Day 3: Many of my trips have a natural transition point, never planned, but a turn in the river that changes the energy of the assembled team and the pages that turn new stories with every passing kilometer.

Today. Was. That. Day.

A significant course correction pitted us on a 5-hour trek northeast of the capital city. The topography was markedly different and a welcome site. Rolling greenery is displayed in varied canopies, mountain ranges, and the occasional sunflower reaching for the sky. I checked in with a friend of mine who knows this region well for a bit of intel. I discovered that water insecurity had throttled our destination, causing several hundred deaths over the last year or so. Many of them were sadly infants and children. The intel stuck with me as we meandered through the bumpy landscape taking occasional stops to check on our fellow travelers.

Stepping out into the heat reminded me how close we were to the equator – the sun felt like it was punching us. A little bit like a 4:00 p.m. sun back home after being on the water, where the sun seems to bypass all measures to keep it out.

During one of these pit stops, I learned more about the area and the overall security risk of our presence. This region has been ravaged over the last 20 years, first by a warlord, followed by territorial battles over cattle rights and several ethnic groups jockeying for political positions.

Kony was a warlord (check out “Kony 20212,” a 30-minute documentary on YouTube – 103 million have watched it) who killed, maimed, and kidnapped millions over a short period in the early 2000s. I was glad to hear that he was reportedly in exile somewhere in the jungles of the Congo. A pleasant but cautious message was conveyed to me that the ground we were standing on would not be so nourishing at the arrival of dusk—a fresh reminder to respect new worlds and the cultures that reside.

We continued to meet with local authorities to ‘register our presence.’ I have come to think highly of this local phrase of dedicated respect for others. The general blessing of our visit was crucial to avoid any future incidents. The day wore on, and we settled on a small roadside village for lunch. We sat out back in a makeshift room with wooden slats providing individual windows to the activities of local boys interested in football (soccer). Goat was served with rice. I have now eaten goat meat several times, though I am still a bit uneasy. I will adapt, or I will go hungry in these parts.

At the close of lunch, a few of us discussed the plan for the rest of our time in this region. After a few minutes, I felt someone behind me wanting to speak with the Country Director for WaterAid. I don’t speak the local language, but I could tell that the discussion was poignant and of heightened importance – we were not to be seen after the clock passed 4:00 p.m. as local ‘warriors’ would not take kindly to our presence. This was told to me only after I persisted in knowing. It was shared calmly, but they knew I knew it was more than a courtesy request.

These are the realities, and I accept them smartly and with a deep sense of my surroundings, both out of respect and caution.

We discovered that our right front tire had a leak as we began to leave. So, we had to revert to the exact location we were told to leave. Thankfully, we were able to source a quick fix and resume our path ahead.

The long and hot day was worth it – we entered what is called a manyata, meaning a tiny but well-organized village connected not by the open landscape but by boundaries of converted nature to designate one family from another. These boundaries give a visual cue that my home is not your home, and thorny hedges come packed with poison to keep would-be visitors away for fear of severe bodily swelling.

Meetings with villagers yielded an agreement that we could return tomorrow to document a day in the life of some women when they go to the river for water, how they handle daily activities and the like.

I have shared a great many photos today through social media. I hope they capture the depth of humanity and the richness of the land. I am thankful for a day steeped in the realities of this world and for the exchanges of kindness and wonderment that make me smile as I type.

I will close with one very brief but meaningful exchange. As we proceeded to the manyata, I periodically rolled my window down to see the locals as we passed by. The timing was quite perfect. As my window came to a stop, a young man with other boys his age lit up with saucer-sized eyes, pointed at me, and said, “…the White one!”

A small example of the power of connection. Seeing one another not merely for our differences but for what we might create together. I now have a memory, and I hope he shares that memory as well.

A deeply appreciative good night to all of you who have continued to send me messages as you, too, have felt the power of this experience.

Day 4: My final day in a remote and desolate region brings about an emotional spectrum ranging from sadness to raw joy. On the one hand, witnessing the ironies of the developing world so desperate to advance their standard of living yet tackling problems of basic needs so inefficiently elicits feelings of frustration and sadness. But, conversely, experiencing incredible moments of connection with a young child who lacks every convenience, let alone basic needs, continues to be the ‘drug’ of choice for this traveler.

Today was an immersive experience to capture footage while respecting the dignity of the villagers. It is a fine line – you want to accurately depict their lives without pandering to dramatic images akin to Western commercials seeking funding for displaced and malnourished animals and children.

It was clear from the outset that the residents were happy to host us, especially the women and children. The men maintained their distance throughout the day, always watching. As we started figuring out our plan for the day, many children interacted with us. They loved our phones, drone camera, and vehicles. I was taking photos and, at one point, decided to show a young boy the picture I had taken of him. He was amazed, and other children followed. It was quite a moment to watch their amazement. It was clear that they had never seen a camera, let alone a picture of themselves.

These small moments transcend time, cultures, and points across the globe. For example, one little boy wore a t-shirt that read, “Future No. 1 Draft Pick.” That child and image will stick with me. A special boy who just needs a chance.

The pace of the day mirrored the slow, rolling waves of heat that continuously ushered in rising temperatures. I felt desperate for shade. My movements slowed to a snail’s pace as I tried to maintain some calm. And I knew it would get even hotter as we took our gear down to the Nataa River. I will admit that I felt so desperate that I rummaged through my bag for an umbrella. There was no shame in my game at that point, even if the locals looked at me like I was an alien. I am sure the image of a Muzungu with an umbrella will be indelible for quite some time.

A river, in name only, welcomed us. Cattle were crossing the riverbed as the children of the manyata (the term for homestead) raced to see what we were doing. After hours of taping, we packed up as the clouds rolled over the mountains. Within minutes the heavens opened up, dropping rain in amounts I am not sure I have ever personally witnessed. Finally, we headed to the city of Mbale for the evening. Tomorrow, we head back to the capital of Kampala and then to the airport at 2:00 a.m., Saturday morning, for a 4:00 a.m. departure back to Stockholm through Istanbul.

As I bid you a good evening, I brace myself for the travel days ahead, underscoring the word ‘days.’