Julie's Rainbow

I've been in such a whirlwind this past week, there's been no time to focus on the blog. Between the physical toll of jet-lag and plunging back into my duties as Project Director (a.k.a. “Chief Gulu Gal,”) I've been so overwhelmed, my creative muse finally got pissed and skipped town.

It’s amazing how much you’re expected to actually comprehend when you’re a manager. Obviously, being gone for a month a half tends to put one behind the eight ball, but I’m astounded by how much people actually expect you to take on, just because you’ve got a snooty title. I mean, why the heck would I know anything about budget projections? Could you please just make a pedicure appointment for me and back off?

Actually, the only saving grace in this swirling nightmare of administrative responsibility is the gutsy team here working with me. I’ve sung the praises of my colleagues Akiiki the Technical Director and The Intern often enough, but being away for a while only heightens my respect and gratitude for how much they’re willing to put up with to keep this project going. Their whole-hearted commitment makes the thankless task of being a boss a little less bitter.

I mean, YOU try calculating the budget for the next three months, planning another workshop, networking with the BBC, yelling at incompetent builders, getting the toilet fixed…and those are just the top 5 on the list……all at once. IT SUCKS ASS. And yet….

I am so, SO grateful for this gig. It’s almost like God planned for me to jump back into this very scenario at this very time. It helps to obscure the piercing pain I feel whenever I think about my sister Julie's death. When you literally don’t have TIME to grieve, the option gets swept off the table. When every nook and cranny of your consciousness is jammed with to-do lists and numbers and buying desks and projectors and air conditioners, grieving becomes this hulking menace that threatens to topple everything else you have to do. You’re pretty much forced to stave it off.

Don’t get me wrong…..I’ve had my moments. For example, on November 19th, my first day back at the helm and the one month anniversary of Julie’s death, Akiiki decided to forward an e-mail to me. It was one of those chain slide-shows full of breathtaking images and hokey homilies. He even admitted that he hates having his inbox cluttered with them, but something made him read this one. It touched Akiiki's heart, and he thought it would be inspirational for me.

Fat chance, buster. Basically, the e-mail was about a little boy named Jimmy who died of cancer, and whose anguished mother wondered why God lets little children suffer so. The boy wanted his body donated to science, but a nurse gave the mom a lock of his hair before his body is taken to a local university. Mom heads back her empty house to wallow in grief so bottomless, she doesn’t expect to ever come up for air. She curls up on Jimmy’s bed and falls asleep, and when she wakes up, this “Letter from Jimmy” magically appears next to her on the pillow.

I won’t even TRY to relay the entire letter here, because it amounted to PORNIGRAPHICALLY OVER-THE-TOP EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION. (If any of you are curious about it--and have hearts made of stone--drop me an e-mail and I'll forward it to you.) But at one point, Jimmy tells his mother he’s glad he’s in Heaven, because he just couldn’t stand the pain anymore. That’s when I lost my shit completely.

After a bit of choking and spluttering, I took stock of the situation. I decided that e-mail was a sign from Julie that’s she’s okay….actually a lot better off now. My brother-in-law Ron and I joke about how pathetic we must be, considering every bird and butterfly sighting as a sign from Julie, but really, it’s one of few things that keep me sane. In fact, there was another sign last Saturday, as I was headed back to Gulu from Kampala.

You’ll all be happy to know that Akiiki found different route from Kampala to Gulu. It cuts through Hoima and Masindi, and reduces by at least 25 percent the probability of future chronic spinal injury from bumping over mostly impassable roads. There were rainstorms most of the way, but every now and then the sun would peep from behind big puffy clouds.

There’s so much that’s lush and beautiful about Uganda’s rolling hills and vast mountain ranges, even though the profound poverty in most areas is deeply disturbing. When Akiiki and I weren’t laughing and talking about all that had happened while I was away, I spent a lot of time pondering how amazing it is that I’m doing what I’m doing, where I’m doing it.

And then we rounded a curve near Masindi. Directly in front of us, filling half the horizon, was a rainbow. It was actually just a section of a rainbow, a goodly portion of the left side of the usual arch-like configuration. It was encased on top and bottom by big white puffy clouds. Calling it startling is a severe understatement. Not only because of how blue the sky was and the psychedelic colors, but because it was the first rainbow I’d seen in Uganda.

Right before I went home to help Julie make her transition, I blogged about how even though it rains a lot when the sun is shining in Gulu, there were never any rainbows. I needed to see one, I wrote, because rainbows were my lucky symbol. Whenever I see a rainbow, I take it as a sign that everything’s going to be okay. If I could have just seen a rainbow before I left, I’d know that even though Julie was facing yet another brush with death, she would emerge triumphant again, like she had myriad times before.

Well, Do Jesus! I finally got my rainbow, but one could argue that it was bit too late by that point. On the other hand, it came right when I needed it. If the Ugandan Internet system ever advances to the point where sending photographs doesn’t cause nationwide network failure, I’m going to post a picture of Julie’s Rainbow on this blog. I think it'll astonish you just as much as it did me. It’ll be my gift to all of you who’ve hung in there while I opened a vein and bled all over my laptop screen this past month or so.

Thank you very much.