Farewell to Africa

I've always found it difficult to say goodbye to Africa. This time will be no different. As I leave behind the warmth of the Equatorial sun and its peoples, I reflect on the numerous ways this continent has changed, and continues to change my life. The faith lost and found, the friendships made from near and afar, the meaning of love and death rediscovered...and so much more. All gone and past in the blink of an eye. From sunrise to sunset, from dusk till dawn, as memories fade with time, I am reminded of their veracity by a reflection brought about by a sudden deliberation: the utter importance of love as the sole reality and not a mere sentiment, the ultimate truth that lies at the heart of creation.

As I embark on my new assignment to the Middle East, I can not help but be staggered by the intensity of the former.

I remain forever indebted to:
Rev. "Faza" Richard: for being the greatest Salesian missionary Africa (and certainly Uganda) has ever known, and for all the kindness, caring and love offered us volunteers and the Bosco boys;
Ewa: Ty juz wiesz za co ;-)
Haidar: for the exceptional babakhanoudz and all fatherly advice. La vie en rose!;
Ali "Airee" Hamdan: for all the dumb, embarrasing pic's, life- and $-saving bad-ass Luganda (and Arabic) phrases (I still can't figure where you got them from), not to mention all Lebanese survival tips for singles in developing countries, for being my younger bro and partner in crime. Insh'Allah! Long live Owino! Banange!;
Bozhil: for a well stocked fridge and all the cold beers (incl. 1 cold cuba libre), verbal and near-fist fights with sizzling Bulgarian music in the background;
Bonnie: for the unconscious advice on life's simple pleasures, God, last minute Ugandan food and beer deliveries (nevermind the quality);
Michael: for making a jackass out of yourself in front of all the swell (and not so swell) muzungu nyabos and Ugandan malayas, for introducing me to a new quality of the German sense of humor;
Angela: for the best "golabki" I have ever eaten and for "rediscovering your Polish roots" ;-)
Przemo: for being my soulmate and spiritual mentor during times of doom and gloom;
Beth: for the unusual American (or rather Texan) warmth of heart, and my iPod ;-)
Anthony: for your verbal support, intellect, and cracking at my Karamoja-trip jokes.

Our memories are always the place of our encounters...

Another day's reflection...

I often wonder why I long for just another weekend at Don Bosco. Is it the kids I have grown to miss over time, the feeling of belonging, the yearning for a "Polish Home", or the craving for a steady, rational conversation? Yes prehaps, but not merely that. It is here, at Don Bosco, that, despite the geographical divide (though not continental), I feel closest to Her...

5 marca

5 marca br. obchodzimy 69. rocznice katynska.

5 marca 1940 r. z rozkazu J. Stalina i L. Berii w tzw. NKWD wymordowalo ponad 25 tys. polskich oficerow - jencow wojennych - przetrzymywanych w obozach na terytorium bylego ZSRR. Liczba 25 tys. stanowila polowe korpusu oficerskiego Wojska Polskiego. Bylo miedzy nimi takze dwoch moich wujow - oficerow rezerwy WP.

5 marca, podobnie jak 1. sierpnia, rocznica wybuchu Powstania Warszawskiego - z ktorego moim bliskim, pomimo odniesionych ran udalo sie wyjsc calo - pozostaje rocznica szczegolna. Rocznica szczegolna, poniewaz jak malo ktora z tak licznych u nas rocznic sklania do refleksji nad ta odwieczna zdawaloby sie walka Dawida z Goliatem, walka prawdy z zaklamaniem, zyciem a jego poswieceniem. Poswieceniem w obliczu kompletnej bezbronnosci i bezradnosci. Czyz wlasnie to poswiecenie - w tej czy innej formie - nie jest kwintesencja naszego istnienia?

5 marca niektorzy z nas zadaja sobie pytanie, czy oby napewno zaglade kwiatu polskiej inteligencji oficerskiej w obliczu jej kompletnej bezradnosci mozna nazwac poswieceniem, a co wiecej bohaterstwem. Czyz nie byla ona dla nas - podobnie jak Powstanie '44 - kolejna narodowa tragedia? No bo przeciez, z nielicznymi wyjatkami, jej ofiary nie zdazyly podjac otwartej walki z najezdzca. Nie zdazyly, bo podjely te walke juz duzo wczesniej, wkladajac mundur polskiego oficera. Czy mundurowi temu nie pozostali wierni do konca, zdajac wzorowo ten najwazniejszy zyciowy egzamin z odwagi, w calkowitym odosobnieniu i ciszy, przed Bogiem?

5 marca 2009 r. Panstwo Rosyjskie nadal nie uznaje zbrodni katynskiej za zbrodnie wojenna, a co wiecej zbrodnie przeciwko ludzkosci. W styczniu bierzacego roku rosyjski Wojskowy Sad Najwyzszy po raz trzeci podtrzymuje decyzje o umorzeniu sledztwa w sprawie zbrodni katynskiej utrzymujac w mocy werdykt Moskiewskiego Okregowego Sadu Wojskowego, ktory zgodnie z kodeksem karnym z 1926 r. okresla zbrodnie katynska jako przestepstwo pospolite ulegle przedawnieniu. Jest to juz trzecia nieudana walka rodzin katynskich z rosyjskimi sadami.

5 marca 2009 r. nie brakuje w Rosji glosow sumienia. Andriej Wozniesienskij, poeta rosyjski pisze o Katyniu jako o "otwartym [...] skarbcu, w ktorym spoczywa [...] kwiat narodu polskiego, wojska, mlodej inteligencji, tworcow, bohaterow." Co wiecej, Wozniesienskij okresla Katyn jako "wygnanie z pamieci Boga." Czyz bez Niego dzisiejsza Rosja moze wyzwolic sie spod jarzma niewoli wlasnego sumienia?

5 marca 2009 r. rozwazajac powyzsze projektuje w wyobrazni trzydziesci milionow ofiar ludobojstwa w sowieckim panstwie - podobnie w roku miesci sie w przyblizeniu trzydziesci milionow sekund - i mysle sobie, ze przeciez w niebie, nad nami, co sekunde przez rok caly rozblyska jedno imie zamordowanego, a w tym tysiace dusz Katynia.

5 marca 2009 r. obchodzimy 69. rocznice katynska.

Ziemia Niczyja

Swiezo wykapany, gladko ogolony i (jak mi sie zdawalo) dobrze wyekwipowany wyruszylem o godz. 6 rano dn. 8go stycznia autokarem na polnocny-wschod Ugandy...

Podroz jak podroz. Gdyby nie te drogi, nie ten autokar, nie ci ludzie, nie to slonce, nie ten krajobraz, nie to wszystko. Ale nie zglebiajmy szczegolow. Grunt to start - meta musi przyjsc predzej czy pozniej, w tej czy innej postaci.

Pustka, echo. Wzdycham do prozni. Pies z kulawa noga nie odpowie. Dlaczego? Bo po pierwsze nie ma tu - o dziwo - zadnych psow, po drugie, bo to dopiero obrzeza miasta-stolicy. Asfaltowa jak z bicza trzasnal. Pieszych wzdluz niej malo bo pali w stopy i zostawia slady. Wiec posuwam dalej ospalym dwusladem nieswiadomy co mnie czeka za pare godzin. W sluchawkach moja nieodlaczna i zawsze niezawodna greka - Dalaras, Alexiou, Fragoulis - przypominaja, ze niegdys w oddalonej o tysiace kilometrow Europie...byl sobie Sokrates, Herodot, i dzielny Leonidas. I kwitla sobie C y w i l i z a c j a .

Mbale. Przystanek posrodku miejskiego targu. Widok zza okna nie napawa optymizmem. Zolnierze UPDF w pelnym rynsztunku pakuja sie do swierzego i przestrzennego autokaru. May I sit here? No. Sorry Boss. Yeah, I bet you are. Swietnie. Zapowiada sie powtorka jednego z moich bardziej pamietnych lotow Seattle-Frankfurt, kiedy to scisniety miedzy spasionym, spoconym Grekiem a marudna emerytka, w pozycji natalnej usilnie odliczalem mile do ladowania.

Dzis zamiast Greka i emerytki dostepuje zaszczytu blisko 12-godzinnej podrozy w towarzystwie nadzwyczaj gadatliwego Ugandyjczyka z Nakapiripirit i stacjonujacego od ponad trzech lat w Karamodzy zolnierza UPDF. Korzystam z okazji i prosze o tzw. security briefing; Od mw. dwoch lat nie mielismy powazniejszych starc i zbrojnych napadow na busy. Kiedys zdarzaly sie z regularna czestotliwoscia. Podrozujacych mordowano a busy konfiskowano na wlasny uzytek. Od kiedy rzad wydal rozkaz rozmieszczenia lotnych patroli w 5-km odleglosci od siebie i zaincjowal program rozbrojenia, ilosc napadow zdecydowanie zmalala.


to be continued asap...after a momantary laps of reason

"We hardly need to be reminded that we are living in an age of confusion — a lot of us have traded in our beliefs for bitterness and cynicism or for a heavy package of despair, or even a quivering portion of hysteria. Opinions can be picked up cheap in the market place while such commodities as courage and fortitude and faith are in alarmingly short supply".

"To be persuasive, we must be believable; to be believable we must be credible; to be credible, we must be truthful".

Edward R. Murrow
(father of broadcast journalism)

Obama: a stimulus to the fading American dream and why America is showing the world the way again

My political awakening began in the late eighties, when I was 10. Ronald Reagan was in the concluding year of his second term at the White House, and one could feel the winds of change blowing over Europe. My parents and I had left the Eastern Block a few years earlier for 'the West' in hope of a better life. I didn't really understand much about international politics, but soon my education began.

In West Germany, I recall Foreign Minister Hans Dietrich Genscher's - unaware of what a big-shot my next-door neighbor is - guarded limousine speed past our home window and my parents constantly glued to the TV watching news and leafing through Newsweeks. It didn't take them long to apply for US immigrant visas. The changes were sweeping and I was a witness, although a somewhat innocent one.

'In America you can be anything you want to be' I remember many people around me saying, prior to and after my arrival in the US. And all of us immigrants believed it from the onset. I soon graduated from a reputable Catholic high school, went on to study at one of the more respected US universities and after graduation spent seven years working and traveling in Europe, the Middle East and Africa, seeing things that my grandparents at best saw only on TV. And, in the words of one of the most prominent journalists of our time, 'over the years I've only become more and more attached to that American ideal, even when America [...] didn't always seem to be living up to that ideal of herself'.

After my encounter with what President G. W. Bush once referred to as New Europe, the Middle East and Africa, witnessing overt nepotism, unending political quarrel, poverty, corruption and the absence of a civil society and basic human rights, I came away feeling blessed that I have grown up in America, with all the opportunities that entailed. It is then that I really came to appreciate 'that the ideal of opportunity for all was indeed something uniquely American'.

A European Obama?

Although, one can not deny the multi-ethnicity of today's Europe, for the most part European attitudes towards their colored residents remain resilient. Colored minorities are invisible in the top ranks of government, business and media. With roughly 8.5 million Africans living in France, out of 577 members of the Assemblee Nationale (National Assembly) apart from those representing the overseas territories, none are of African descent. Germany, with a three million Muslim population of mostly Turkish origin, has only 2 representing them in parliament, with Sweden some who trace their origins to Africa. Britain, although outperforming the rest, still remains far below the 10% (50-60 minority members) minority representation.

Hence, it is very improbable to have a Barack Obama materialize in Europe any time soon.

The European parliamentary systems make it practically impossible for a newcomer to politics - think Obama - to leapfrog far more experienced and better-known candidates. He would first have to make his way on to a party list and work his way up through the ranks. But Obama was capable of leapfrogging to take his case straight to voters in primary states.

One year ago no one in the world, or even in America itself would have predicted that a candidate of African descent would become the leader of the most powerful nation on earth. Barack Obama's election to the US Presidency marks a renewal, a turning point in modern American, and perhaps even world history. We are all on a verge of something historic and should pause to reflect on this achievement, for it is evidence of that exact American ideal we grew up so genuinely believing in.

One day...

One day in spring, a woman came
In my lonely woods,
In the lovely form of the Beloved.
Came, to give to my songs, melodies,
To give to my dreams, sweetness.
Suddenly a wild wave
Broke over my heart's shores
And drowned all language.
To my lips no name came,
She stood beneath the tree, turned,
Glanced at my face, made sad with pain,
And with quick steps, came and sat by me.
Taking my hands in hers, she said:
'You do not know me, nor I you--
I wonder how this could be?'
I said: 'We two shall build a bridge forever
Between two beings, each to the other unknown,
This eager wonder is at the heart of things.'

[...]

Rabindranath Tagore