Uganda- drive to Mbale, Abayudaya

David says he is well and can drive us to Mbale – it is 6, maybe 8 hours away. The roads are much better. Last year everything was dirt and pockmarked and under construction. Chinese companies. He sweats the whole way. The man is made of steel. I wonder how many people are depending on his paycheck.

We are driving to the Abayudaya. This is a community of self-appointed Jews in the east of Uganda. In the beginning of the 19^th century, the British converted a Ugandan warrior, Semei Kakungulu to Christianity. They used him to conquer neighboring tribes. Kakungulu operated under the assumption that he would be given proxy control over these areas. When that didn’t happen, he became disillusioned and he and his followers went into seclusion. Kakungulu spent a lot of time reading the bible and came to the conclusion that the first five books – the torah – were what spoke to his heart. He started to practice rituals described in the torah and he and his followers circumsized themselves. The people in the community around him were appalled and called them Abayudaya – which means Jews, a derogatory term. But he said, yes, that’s who we are. We are Abayudaya.

They didn’t know that Judaism was a major religion internationally. So, I believe there was mutual surprise when members of the Abayudaya ran into a Jew, Joseph – I believe they were on a journey that involved trading. This is around 1920. Anyway, Joseph agreed to come back to the Abayudayah community and teach Judaism – he brought a Torah, introduced the Jewish calendar, and taught them major religious ceremonies.

In 1928, Semei Kakungulu died of tetanus. Half his followers reverted to Christianity and half remained Abayudayah. They remained so despite advantages going to Christians – the schools were often missionary schools, the Christian church could supply jobs. In the 1980s, Idi Amin came to power and outlawed Jewish worship. Most people converted to Christianity, but the Abayudayah who remained – 300 or so – kept practicing. They were in the middle of something else – not just surviving; they were building a life.

Today the Abayudaya live in a few scattered communities near Mbale. They have made connections, are officially recognized by, and receive support from the international jewish community. They also have peaceful relations with their Christian and Muslim neighbors and have established an inter-faith coffee cooperative. They model an intentional way of living – a modest peace.

We stop in Lira which for some reason feels halfway between Gulu and Mbale – although when I look at a map it’s only 1/3 of the way. Maybe it’s the roads. Lira is a big town with a view of a voraciously green hill, a rock, cell phone towers. They have a big movie theater with bright pink walls. Lira is bright! We eat lunch at a little restaurant with white tile and a bollywood film on the TV.

OK, so, really, at this point of the trip, I can’t sit still anymore. I’m stumbling over my own obstacles to seeing. Turning 30 is hard for me - a sign post for "going on". Alone. Or at least, without mom. I am not sure quite what the work of grieving is. I don't like this image of "going on". Surviving. I don’t want to be a survivor. I don’t want to say I survived losing mom or I survived living with her illness. I don’t want the meaning in suffering to be proving that I am strong. I want something more than that.

We arrive at the Abayudayah guest house. It’s beautiful – clean, on top of a hill looking out on mountainous green – I go for a walk. I’m trying to walk out of my head. To the edge of the hill where the road slopes down to the sound of lively conversations – a town, a school getting out. Children in blue uniform walking up the hill. The land is flat until the horizon, until the haze of colorless sky. Farms. Smoke from domestic fires. Homes. The land goes on unfamiliar forever. What is it - the work of going home...

Today was made possible by the California Institute of the Arts.