Madings’ Faith Journey - 1-230717

Day 1

Overwhelming and discouraging is the only way to describe the beginning of our journey. Just a day before traveling, I learned that my credit card had been flagged for fraud and that it was being cancelled. There had never been any fraudulent activity and after multiple calls to the bank, I was told that a new card would be delivered in 5-10 business days but, I didn’t have that many days to wait. So, we took off anyway and began our Faith Journey.  Knowing that all things will work together is completely different from expecting all things to work out and having to wait and watch it happen.

The flight from San Francisco to Dubai was 15 hours and we were blessed to have received a seat change – one where Michael could actually sit without the need to fold himself up. We were completely comfortable the entire way. Once in Dubai, we went directly to our hotel to get proper sleep because our layover was 14 hours and no one had time or a credit card for shopping.

The flight from Dubai to Entebbe, Uganda was a 5 hours. The plane was full of young Ugandan-Brits traveling to visit relatives and a large group of American teens from New York going to do mission work.  Upon landing in Uganda, the reality of what Michael and I had just done; moved from our US comfort zone to a foreign country hit us both all at once and exhaustion began to settle in and we still had a 20 mile drive to Kampala before we could rest.

We waited for an hour to receive our luggage, bought a SIM card so we can keep in touch with loved ones, and were able to skip right past customs. And then we took a taxi to Kampala: a 20 mile drive that took over 2 hours with a persistent rainbow that seemed to follow us toward the last 30 minutes of the ride. The trip took so long because I had given the driver directions to a guesthouse I’d found online and he couldn’t find it because the given address was not for the guesthouse.

When we finally arrived at the guesthouse (sometime after 7pm when we had been in the country since 3pm), it turned out to be an extremely simple set up that was substandard. Needless to say, I was sorely disappointed with myself, the driver, and now the guesthouse owner. Oh, and did I mention how exhausted I was? Well if I didn’t, I was so exhausted that I turned into LC (for those of you who don’t know, that‘s short for Little Cora and not a very nice Saree).

The blessing in all of it was that the guesthouse a short walk around the corner from the same hotel I’d stayed in back in May and for $20 per night, we were able to set up shop for a full week…breakfast included! The staff remembered me and immediately welcomed us and made us feel comfortable.

The first day of our journey was full of stress and disappointment. We were overwhelmed and discouraged by it but just as it looked like the sun would not shine; God put a rainbow in the sky.

Day 2

After a good night’s sleep and a clear mind, I began to think about that rainbow that seemed to follow us and I began to reach back and remember old teachings and scriptures: “Put on the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness…” Thus I began to simply say, “Thank you.”

Thank you Lord for the safe flight

 Thank you Lord for my husband’s patience

Thank you Lord for the love and support of family and friends

Thank you Lord for providing all that we need to be successful on this journey

When I sat down to write out the To Do list we needed to follow, the last thing on the list was this:

“Wait on the Lord and be of good courage”

Sometimes one must minister to self…so this one time while sitting in a very low place, I did just that and by the end of the day, I was feeling much better.

I was able to make phone calls to the bank for an emergency card to be delivered here, to Michael’s nephew to set up a visit, to Anei’s wife Elizabeth, and of course to my Cora for a little more encouragement. Overall, it was a productive day and we were back in good spirits.

Day 3

Visiting family will always make one feel better about any situation and so we set out on our journey to visit Michael’s niece and nephew. It had been 10 years since Michael last saw his niece Angelina Akwac (pronounced uh-kwatch). Also, Chol had never seen his uncle in the flesh so, it was a true blessing to spend time with his niece and nephew. Oh…and I ate like a pig!!

The ride out to the home of Akwac was precarious to say the least. After getting off the main roads, it turns out that she lives on a hill (actually Uganda looks a lot like the Bay Area’s Belmont & San Carlos hills). The way up the hill was not paved and very narrow. There were extremely deep potholes and I’m sure Michael thought that we were going to die but, the Ugandan drivers are AMAZINGLY skillful drivers and we made it up the hill unscathed.

Akwac greeted us in a very formal and traditional way – kneeling on the floor and shaking our hands as did every young lady in the home.  I was uncomfortable with such formalities so, I made her stand up and give me hug. We then sat for a long time and she shared how life was treating her since she left the village of Mayen Abun, South Sudan for Kampala, Uganda and how things were going as the 2^nd wife…a whole story on that to come later.

Later on, I was able to pig out on traditional food – kombo, asida, and deep fried Nile perch! Eating Southern Sudanese food always blesses my soul and Akwac had completely outdone herself. And just think, they thought that I would not like traditional food! She was so happy to see me eat and I was so happy to eat so, it was a win-win.

Day 4

Visiting Emmanuel Anei’s family meant a lot to me; Anei is one of the “Lost Boys of Sudan” that we met back in 2001. Over the years, we’ve spent lots of time with him and have been able to watch him develop into a mature man, loving father, and responsible husband. Meeting his wife and children brought us joy.

The kids attend a good school and are fluent in English and Dinka. I was able to look at their second-term grades and was totally impressed with their academic development. When it was time to leave them (not before eating hardily more Nile Perch and some beef stew), I almost cried when baby girl said, “It was nice meeting you auntie and may God bless you.” She’s only 7 years old!

 Day 5

Visiting the many wives of Kiir Gai and Michael’s great nephews – so much to say and so little head space right now but definitely more to come on this topic.

Uganda v South Sudan soccer match – lots of time spent driving in the car but well worth the site seeing and visit to the stadium for a pro match.

Spending time with Emma Wamala – always good to have family friends with family in the country you visit. Our time with Emma was short but very fun and encouraging. Emma can talk business all night and he really likes to have a good time. Nightlife in Kampala is EVERYTHING!!!

Day 6

We’ve been passing the same African clothing store since we’ve been here so, we took a walk to go see it. It was closed because today is Sunday but, we’ll take the walk again tomorrow. It’s fair to say that we’ve caught up on all the lost sleep by staying indoors and taking a 3 hour nap.

Day 7

Because we are a day ahead, below is the first week in pictures. I’ll be working on the format of a weekly update and appreciate your prayers of support. There will also be more pictures to come. Enjoy!

Michael with his niece Angelina Akwac 

Michael's great nephew Kiir 

Two fan flag bearers during the friendly match between Uganda and South Sudan 

Little Anei and Me 

Gai & Kiir - Michael's great nephews 

Michael, Akwac and Me 

Post game selfie with Chol 

Children of Anei 

Anei's sweet daughter

Uganda -vs- South Sudan soccer match at Lugogo Stadium

On My Marriage

There’s nothing to talk about. Here comes the silence again. That vast ocean of nothingness that causes emotions to float about like rotten logs of wood. Aimlessly bobbing up and down. No one clinging to them for fear of that dreaded mold rubbing off and spreading its slimy yuck.

We have nothing to talk about and so much to say at the same time. Nothing has changed. He’s still him and I’m still me. And I believe it was about 4½ years ago I swore that I would leave. I’m still here. Why? Why have I chosen this fabulously fucked up life?

To be clear, it’s not all his fault. I’m to blame for a lot of things. I drink, I over spend, I party….sometimes without abandon. And there is so much more! Fuck! There’s that word again….MORE. What is the more I seek? Is it only something he can provide that will quench this thirst? Is the more something that I can get to on my own…like without him? Is the more something that even exist?

There’s nothing to talk about because we’ve had this conversation so many times in the past. There’s nothing to talk about because he will never change and I still want him too. There’s nothing to talk about because:

-          He brings all of his money home
-          He doesn’t have any other women
-          He fucks me very well
-          He loves and provides for his kids
-          He works hard
-          He’s a good man
-          He’s good looking and patient and kind

And yet, there is another list but, I’m not even going to start on it because it would take me back to the WAAAAAAY back. Unless I’m really willing and able to do something about it, I have no business going there. At all. Or do I? I am the one who’s sitting at the kitchen table typing all this bullshit about my marriage, my disappointment, my unhappiness. I’m trying to find someone to blame…or maybe I’ve been blaming him all along.

I’ve blamed him for our financial short comings. I’ve blamed him for our sons’ shortcomings. I’ve blamed him for our inability to go on vacation, eat at nice restaurants, and buy new things. I’ve blamed him because he’s not gone back to school and gotten his degree; thereby creating opportunities for him to advance in his career and be more capable of providing some of that material shit I listed above. I’ve blamed him for being comfortable while I lose sleep and stress over bills, meals, and deals. I blame him for treating me the way I’ve allowed him to: with lots of love, respect, and patience. He so patient with me. So what?!

So, I’m sure that he has so much to say. Why won’t he simply say what he’s thinking instead of going mute? Why not say: I’m afraid, I’m not confident, I’m happy just as I am so shut the fuck up!? I wish he would just say it so I can stop thinking about it and be “put in my place”! – YEAH RIGHT!!!

This has been a twenty year saga. 20 years!! Clearly something is going well. And clearly I’m just full of shit and have nothing better to do than bash my husband. Or maybe this marriage shit is super murky and I’m still trying to figure out if I’ve made the right decision and if I’ll ever be truly content.

My stomach hurts.

A Tribute to Teachers - May 25, 2014

I want to begin this day with a few words of gratitude. 25 years ago, I took part in a ceremony that marked the beginning of a different way of thinking and living. High school was finally over and I was elated to join that special group of people: ADULTS. At the time, it had not occurred to me that there were numerous adults who actually helped me along the way. There were family members, neighbors, community members, folk from church, and of course…TEACHERS!

Today, as my one and only daughter, Shammai Love Acuil Mading, prepares to cross the stage in that glorious ceremony we call high school graduation, I want to take a few minutes to say thank you to the following teachers:

Ravenswood CDC

Pre K – Mrs. Evelyn Dansby (RIP)

East Palo Alto Charter School

Kinder – Terra Lee & Sarah Braunstein

1st – Nicholas Foote & Sara Rutherford

2^nd – Sharon Johnson & Rachel Rosenberg

3^rd – Kate Shoemaker & Carolyn Stuthers

4^th – KATIE KLING!!! J & Patrick Minor

5^th – Madeline Clark & Alexandra Fay

PE – kinder through fifth grade MR. STEVE!!! J

The academic foundation that was laid for Shammai during the elementary years at EPACS prepared her to advance to Castilleja School where she blossomed into a young lady. Castilleja teachers provided Shammai the opportunity to be herself, learn at her own pace, and grow in confidence. She loved every minute, every field trip, and every class. Thank you Castilleja friends and family for all the love and support Shammai experienced 6^th – 11^th grade. It was difficult for her to leave but I’m grateful for Castilleja’s way of empowering Shammai and setting her on such a promising academic path that she could continue here in Memphis at Lausanne Collegiate School.

In the year and a half that she’s been at Lausanne, Shammai was crowned Homecoming Queen, received awards for her artistic creations, and kept her grades up in three AP courses. Shammai will cross the stage today and officially become a part of that special group of people we call young adults. Her Lausanne teachers have done an excellent job at extending her learning beyond the classroom and compelling her to grow into a fine young scholar. I am so grateful.

Today, I alone cannot and will not accept all the congratulations. It was teachers that shaped and molded her young mind. It was teachers who taught her to think more critically, write more precisely, and who taught her chemistry & calculus!  Teachers gave her the test taking skills necessary to get into college. And in her words, “Teachers taught me how to share what I’ve learned with others.” You teachers have provided her with more than her parents could have on their own. Because of you, she will spend a gap-year in Germany…TEACHING!! To every teacher who has assisted my baby girl in getting to this place at this time, thank you. Thank you! THANK YOU!!!

Words...words...WORDS!!

Today, during the George Zimmerman trial, we heard a young lady state that Trayvon Martin used the term Cracker to describe Mr. Zimmerman. When asked if the word was a racial term, she said, "No Sir." After thinking about it for I while, I submit an agreement with Rachel Jeantel. This young lady is not only a 19 year old high school senior; she is also the product of an immigrant family. I doubt that she knows the true history of the word- she only understands it as a descriptor of a "bad" White person.

The words Cracker (and Honky) were created to combat the word Nigger. These two words were created out of anger. These words were all that Black folk had in their arsenal to fight against the discrimination and hatred they experienced on a daily basis. Now if one wants to call the use of these two words a reversal of racism fine. However, the way I see it - young teens today have been raised to know these two words as descriptors of bad White people.

It All Started With a Stolen Purse

This July, I am searching for a flight to visit my daughter in Maine and I can’t help but reflect on the events that took place last July. I am sure that you will find it hard to believe but, it started with a stolen purse…

Thursday, July 24th:

Green Volvo parked in front of the house. A quiet court surrounded by the homes of working-class people; regular folk. The purse was inside as usual but, the doors? Unlocked-not usual. I was inside making my final preparations before the trip to Maine. I was so excited about visiting my daughter at camp. It was parents’ weekend and this would have been my first time going to see her since she started attending the 7 week-long program. I was only inside for about an hour and a half. I spoke with my brother, sat at the table and nibbled on some grub, said my goodbyes to my two sons and walked outside. The car door was wide open! What?! It couldn’t be. The purse was gone. Stolen right from in front of my house. I had a laptop, a check book and a few other valuables but, none of those things were missing; just the purse. Gone.

So, two hours before the flight leaving for Maine, I asked myself what to do first? File a police report? Or cancel the bank card? Call the hotel and car rental to inquire of possibility of usage without license and bank card? Or scramble to find my passport? It was all important and it all had to be done but, wait! Looking at the computer screen, I see a charge on the bank card at a local restaurant. I had to go see if the criminals were still there!

I jumped in the car and drove as fast I legally could! I had to find out who charged the $16 for some tacos. I spent time talking to the cashier. She pulled up the receipt and told me what the perpetrator looked like. They had gotten away and I had to catch a flight. I raced back to the house. I searched for the passport. I called the police, who, by the way, told me to file a report “online”. Can you believe it?!

Anyway, after filing the report online, I called the car rental company. The young man who answered the phone told me that I would not be able to rent the car without a license nor credit card.

Arrived at the airport; time to spare:

“Flight reservation number, identification and credit card please.”

“It was just stolen ma’am.”

“Well don’t you have a credit card?”

“It was just stolen- my purse with everything in it and I needed to get to Maine to see my daughter for parents’ weekend at camp. Here is my passport and the confirmation number.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t seem to find you. Are you sure that this is your name?”

“Yes. The reservation was made with the same name that you see on the passport.”

20 minutes later …

“Oh! Here you are. Unfortunately, the gate is about to close and there is no way that you will make it. Sorry.”

Sorry?! What the f*@k!?! Are you sorry that I got to you on time and that you could not find my name on a ticket and that my purse was stolen and that I am now missing an entire day at camp with my daughter? Really?

I sat on the floor of the airport. I began to cry. I called my cousin, who could not talk or listen to me tell her what had just happened and I cried even more. Why is it that when you need someone (in time of crisis) no one is available? So there I sat, in public, crying. I was trying to remember another time in my life that I had ever felt so sad, so frustrated, and so thoroughly disappointed. I had no recollection of such a time. How does an act of selfishness so devastated ones entire world in a matter of hours? Emotions like a flood crashed over me into one big tidal wave of hurt.

It was the end of my summer. My daughter was expecting me. My first time in Maine. Wanted to relax, get away; spend time with her. Ouch. So there I was left thinking; forget the trip or go on? Go on of course!

Friday, July 25th:

Morning flight- 10:50am arriving late night but, what the hell; better late than never. And late it was:

1. Flight left late
2. Flight in holding pattern for an hour due to lightening storm
3. Flight arrived to connecting city over two hours late
4. Missed connecting flight to final destination
5. No connection until…tomorrow! Tomorrow!? TOMORROW?!?
6. Spent the night in the Philadelphia airport

I was now stuck in the “City of Brotherly Love” but, I was not feeling any love. My back was aching from the stiff bench. My eyes were red from the fluorescent lights. And I was completely worn out. At that point, my mind was thinking, “I should have forgotten about the trip. I should have just stayed home. Too many obstacles.” This trip was beginning to remind me of Sudan in 2007 (another story). I was definitely not feeling any love. No love for the thief who stole my purse! No love for the delayed flight! No love for the hard bench that I had to camp out on! Where was the love?

Saturday, July 26th:

In the morning, after waking to the call for the flight to Portland, I had finally found that love but it came with along with more frustration. First off, the flight was full and I was to wait for another flight later that afternoon. Second, the flight that I was supposed to take me into Maine was late. Lastly, I was tired, without a toothbrush and had not showered for two days. Yuck! But! But, there was a very nice woman who had decided to show me some love. She placed me on that late flight and had also given me something to brush my teeth with so as not to hurt her feelings. Finally! I was in the air and flying to see my daughter.

Portland, Maine; beautiful, quiet, and green. Oh, and lots of mosquitoes. But, I was not complaining because I had made it! And you knew that there would be one of these…BUT! But, no bag! My luggage did not arrive with me! No clean clothes…SHIT! I was told that it would arrive later that evening. And on top of that my period had started! I mean truly unbelievable...it’s why I am writing it down. I then had to be driven to Walmart to buy some underwear, clothes, and pads. Then I was driven to see my daughter. At that point, I had decided not to worry; at least I was going to see my baby girl and have a good time.

And I had a great time. I spent the day with my Shammai. I was able to watch her do a little bit of horseback riding; we shopped in North Conway, New Hampshire and we ate really good pizza with other kids from camp. After being put up in a hotel for the night, I took a walk down the road and found a really nice local restaurant. I enjoyed my time with a wonderful couple and shared a couple of good handcrafted micro brews. And when I arrived at the hotel later that evening, there was still no bag.

So, that evening, I lay quiet. I tried to think of the lesson that I was to learn from the whole series of unfortunate events. What type of negative energy had I set in motion to have it come back upon me with such vengeance? How would I ever be able to convey the variety of emotions that had washed through me over the three-day ordeal? And, and, would I ever feel whole again? Seriously, I had never been through such a difficult time in my life. I had never felt so alone and guilty about having all my plans go awry. I sat silent until my mind could not wander any further into the ocean of questioning. My thoughts drowned in the darkness and I fell asleep.

Sunday, July 27th:

In the morning, I was picked up and taken back to camp to say goodbye to my Love. She was already preoccupied and ready to join in on the fun for the day. So, I just sat in the camp lobby waiting to be taken to the airport. That’s when my bag arrived! My luggage camp just as I was to leave to the Portland airport. All I could do was smile.

I smiled the whole way to Portland. I smiled as I ate a great fish –n –chip lunch. I smiled at all of the lobster that was on sale for $3.99 per pound. I just smiled because I had seen my baby girl and we had a great time. At some point during my sleeping hours, my mind had reconciled that the trip and difficult time had all been worth it. I had a good time getting ready to head back to San Francisco.

But! You knew it was coming!! But, the plane was late arriving. I sat in the Portland airport for over 2 ½ hours. Then we boarded the plane and sat on the tarmac for another hour. Then the plane returned to the gate to let angry passengers off to find another flight. I had been through it all before so, I decided to stay and enjoy the ride. And it was definitely an interesting ride.
I missed my connecting flight due to thunderstorms. I slept in the Philadelphia airport again. And, I swear that I looking at some of the same faces that I had seen from two nights prior. I lay in the airport Tweeting and emailing. No one could believe my story. It was so unbelievable. And somehow, the nightmare seemed to end when I got on the plane for San Francisco the next morning.

Monday, July 28th:

When I finally arrive to SFO, my bag was not there; no big deal. But! Because I had such a good time in Maine, I had forgotten about the fact that I had not parked in long-term parking as well as the fact that I did not have my credit card on me. Now broke, busted and disgusted, I had to call my brother to come and help me pay to get my car out of the short-term parking garage. At this point, I was utterly defeated by the circumstance and I had to go to work.

As I sat here and pondered another trip to Maine, I felt that one thing that would help me make my decision was writing my story. I will stay put this year.

Get Up Off That Thang!

You know those days when you feel down and nothing seems to cheer you up? When everything that could go wrong does? When you're stuck in a rut? Well, for the past few days, that was me. I had been going through so much personal stuff that I began to feel awful. But, I decided that down was not the place for me so I got up.

I began to work out and play my guitar. I took long walks and aired my mind out. I even prayed! And the song that came to my mind was "Get Up Off That Thang!" by James Brown.

Get up off that thang and dance 'til you feel better!
Get up off that thang and dance 'til you feel better!

I had forgotten that one of my favorite pastimes was dancing. So on Super Bowl Sunday, I danced! And I danced! And I danced! It felt so good to be up instead of down. It dawned on me that I could be what I want to be...even emotionally. I could feel better if I really wanted to.

So, now when I am beginning to have the blues creep up on me, I dance. The Bible says, "Put on the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness..." and dancing is just another way to praise. To find joy in the midst of sorrow by way of movement. That negative stuff can't sit on me, I have to shake it off. I got to get up!

Roger...

His name is Roger Simmie. I met him at Fred's. There was an instant attraction. I liked his white beard, mustache and hair. But, more than that, I liked his wise ways. He had so much to offer me: flattery, advice, and company while I waited for football practice to end.

When I found out that he was locked up and about to be deported back to Scotland, I was so sad. I was just getting to know him. I was just about to share my life story with him. I was just about to listen to how he came to the US and fought in Vietnam and, and, and. Now he is absent. He is no longer available to me. I can't share what I had intended to share. I am devastated. Why?

Because he is/was a representation of Henry Boult. My biological father. He would have stood in the place of my father and taught me about myself, about life, about drinking and hanging in bars and guys and all that shit. But, he is gone and I feel that I have lost the opportunity to make a lifetime friend.

If he is deported to Scotland, a place that he has not seen since he was a child (he's well over 50 now), it will be devastating. But me with my optimistic ways will find a way to celebrate and possibly visit and make the connection that I so needed, desired, longed for.

I hope that Roger is well. I hope that I am blessed with the chance to hear him say, "My Lady" once more. I pray that he is able to make it through this ordeal unscathed. I long to get to know my father figure: Roger.