"Under brutality, the best never return"

Gulu is amazing. It's much smaller than Kampala, with a lot of dirt roads, but I love where I live and I like that life is calmer up here. It also blows my mind that every single person here has experienced war first hand. The guns have only been silent in Gulu for one and a half years, but people are pretty optimistic that this time it will last. Most of the town is comprised of NGOs (UNHCR, WHO, World Food Program, Caritas, etc.) but they'll be leaving soon, so I wonder how the town will cope with the decrease in jobs and customers.

My homestay family is perfect - I couldn't have asked for a better experience so far.
My homestay father, Patrick, picked me up at the hotel. We were all pretty scared to meet our families after the first family came with drummers and flowers and ululating all down the street (It was apparently a party at that house until the wee hours haha <3). So Patrick picked me up, and we started talking about the war right away. I was really surprised because we were all a little anxious as to how much our families would want to talk about the war. Well it turns out my dad is a former LRA child soldier, and now works at a rehabilitation center with formerly-abducted child soldiers, and even adopted a few. In fact, two of my host brothers are former child soldiers!
The house is beautiful. It's about 5 km from the center of Gulu, so I take a bota-bota (motorcycle) in the morning and evening to get to my homestead. It's the place my homestay dad has lived forever, where his father and grand-father lived too. We live in a cement house, with a latrine and bath structure in the garden next to the corn fields. There are huts that comprise the rest of the homestead, where some cousins/uncles/random family/clan members live. It's amazing to try to understand the family structure and the dynamics.
In my family there is Patrick, who is the deputy speaker in the government and is currently running for mayor! His wife Grace is a primary school teacher but stays at home now because they have a 1 month old baby, Kristoff. They also have a 4-year old daughter (named either Patience or Jane...). There are two other girls that are probably about 10 and 13. I think the older one may be Patrick's daughter from another woman, and the other girl they adopted (or as my home mother said, she is "training" her). There is also Robert, who has become my Acholi teacher, and Fred, who I never see. There is another boy who looks just like Fred, they must be about the same age, who also lives somewhere on the homestead. I discovered this morning that they are not the same person...

The first night Patrick picked me up at about 5pm and we went to the house. We sat down and he talked to me about Acholi culture until 9pm. It was amazing! He told me all these amazing things (like if you-re born with your first feet first then you're considered a demi-god and should be pampered throughout your life. You're also considered too good to be burried in the ground, so when you die your body is "broken" and put in a pot where it stays in the forest until it decomposes. When only the bones remain, the family puts the pot of bones in the house and leave it there - just like we do with people who are cremated). He talked a little bit about the war. One of his brothers was abducted by the LRA and died in captivity, and one of his sisters was abducted by the government troops during the war and eventually died of AIDS. I hope to talk to him more about the conflict, especially since we have a short paper due on the causes of conflict next week. To research the paper, we need to talk to at least 3 adult members of the community. I think I will try to talk to Patrick, his wife, and his brother who lives in the homestead (and told me he would build me a hut so I can live on the homestead when I marry an Acholi man).
He kept saying how the 20 years of war had decimated Acholi culture. He explained that since over 90% of the Acholi were forced into camps by the government ("for their own protection" hum hum) they lost a lot of their culture. People lost respect for their elders because they saw that they could not protect them. They also lost respect for many witch doctors and old traditions that they saw being ineffective against the guns of the LRA. A lot of traditions were also simply impossible to continue in the camps, due to the horrible conditions. He gave the example of twins, and how they are also considered demi-gods, and whose ambilical cords are supposed to be put in a pot and a shrine is to be made with the pot under a tree. Of course, in the camps, there simply wasn't room. Apparently the huts were so close together even the thatched roofs touched.
Another such tradition that has been abandoned is among the Langi people, who live next to the Acholi but are also classed as "Northerners" and have suffered a lot during the conflict, concerns marriage. Apparently, once you marry a woman, you are never to see her mother face to face. It is a sign of respect/fear of the power she now holds over you. He said if you see your mother-in-law walking you must turn away, even if it means you turn into the bush.

Anyway, so many interesting tid-bits. I'm learning so much.

I made my uncle, Frances, promise to teach me how to kill a chicken, so apparently I'm making dinner this weekend! Aaaah! It will be a good skill to have for the Peace Corps. I'm just hoping I don't react like I did at lunch a couple of days ago in a restaurant. I ordered goat meat. Um yeah. By meat I wasn't really expecting a peace of tied up intestine and tongue/stomach lining (not entirely sure what it was). I've never been so nauseated at something on my plate in my entire life. I felt awful not eating it but I just couldn't. We'll see if taking the intestines out of a chicken I just killed will be any less grosse.
I also ate a fried grasshopper in Kampala. SO GOOD! It sort of just tastes like a chip.
Apparently they eat "white ants" up here, which I'm pretty sure are termites. Termite paste, fried termites. Bring it on! And bush rat! Yay can't wait!

Anyway, I have to go. I told my homestay dad I would be taking the boda-boda back about 40 minutes ago, but instead I'm sitting under a fan with a cold beer. Mmmm. I was supposed to help with dinner today but our classes ended later than planned. Maybe tomorrow.

I'll try to come online again before the end of my stay in Gulu, but the internet is pretty sporatic. Today is the first day it has worked since we got here.

If anyone wants a more personal email, email me first and my gmail account and I'll tru to respond asap.

Love you all!