FIELD JOURNAL: AUGUST 2013

My Last Days at TASO and Transition to RLP

As my time at TASO draws to a close, I find myself filled with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation. This week, I attended a workshop on tuberculosis (TB) hosted by TASO’s Medical Department. It wasn’t part of my official duties, but I invited myself anyway, compelled by a desire to understand how TB, often a silent companion to HIV/AIDS, is being managed among care providers. Dr. Owino, a seasoned radiologist from Kampala, delivered a powerful session on TB prevention for health workers. His insights were practical, grounded in science but filled with the urgency that comes from firsthand experience.

What struck me most during the workshop wasn’t just the medical content but the subtle tension between donor priorities and government needs. One official, speaking on radio, had questioned the heavy focus on TB, HIV, and AIDS while diseases like malaria continue to claim thousands of lives. It raised an uncomfortable but necessary question: whose agenda are we really serving—the donors’ or the people’s?

Ironically, I had just recovered from a vicious bout of malaria. It reminded me how quickly we forget the vulnerabilities of home when we return from places like the U.S. I had neglected to take my antimalarial pills, thinking, perhaps foolishly, that my body remembered how to fight it. I was wrong. But in that fevered haze, I gained a renewed appreciation for my health, and the fragility of life here in Northern Uganda.

Between Cities and Realities: From Gulu to Kampala

Just days ago, I took an overnight bus to Kampala to begin the next phase of my internship with the Refugee Law Project (RLP). Arriving at 5 a.m., I was greeted by a city that had changed dramatically since my last visit in 2002. Towering glass buildings now pierce the sky, and the once lush, green hills have given way to concrete. Even Hilton has found a home here. Kampala, like Nairobi, is becoming a city of ambition—and tension.

Despite my eagerness to begin work at RLP, bureaucracy welcomed me first. I waited days for meetings that were constantly rescheduled or missed altogether. The patience I once had seems to have thinned, a result perhaps of my recent academic experiences in the U.S. I now expect more—more professionalism, more accountability. When I finally met the HR officer, the entire process took only 15 minutes. A small win, but a telling one.

Returning to Gulu: Finding Rhythm in Familiar Places

Back in Gulu, I’ve settled into a wall-fenced house about 30 minutes’ walk from the office. Every morning, I cross a vast open field—an image that stirs memories of childhood walks to school in my village. That field back home has since been swallowed by development, but here, the landscape still breathes simplicity and freedom. The children I pass remind me of my own, and my neighbors often ask why I’m here alone. I had planned to bring my family during the school break, but the calendar was disrupted by a teachers’ strike.

Power outages continue to frustrate daily life, particularly during the rains. They disrupt office work, cancel meetings, and plunge the town into darkness. Yet, in the evenings, I sit outside with the neighbor’s children, staring at the stars and listening to their laughter. It reminds me that sometimes, in losing our connection to electricity, we rediscover our connection to life.

RLP Work: Shaping Justice from the Ground Up

At RLP, my work centers around two significant projects: the Beyond Juba Project II and the Advisory Consortium on Conflict Sensitivity. The former focuses on transitional justice in Northern Uganda—how to reconcile communities torn apart by the LRA conflict and ensure the peace agreement signed in Juba is meaningfully implemented. My role is to support the design of capacity-building strategies for local groups, covering everything from advocacy to fundraising.

The ACCS project, on the other hand, demands more structure. I’m helping redesign a newsletter and build a monitoring and evaluation guide for their radio programs. These tools, while technical, are vital in ensuring the community’s voice doesn’t get lost in policy discussions. RLP’s approach to justice is both inspiring and challenging. They emphasize the victim’s voice, pushing us to think of justice not just as prosecution, but as restoration.

Cultural and Professional Reflections: A Tale of Two Nations

Uganda and Kenya share many things—colonial histories, ethnic groups, even a border carved by European hands. Yet, their trajectories differ. Uganda’s north-south divide, born from decades of internal conflict, mirrors Kenya’s neglect of its northern regions due to climate and politics. But where Uganda has suffered armed rebellions, Kenya’s wounds are electoral and communal. Both are raw in their own way.

Working in Uganda has forced me to reexamine my peacebuilding philosophy. For a long time, I equated peace with the absence of violence. But in Northern Uganda, peace without justice is incomplete. Here, transitional justice is not just an academic concept; it is a lived, daily reality. My assumptions have been challenged, my strategies reshaped. And I realize now that relationship-building, though essential, must be complemented by structural justice and community-centered approaches.

Witnessing History: A Visit to Lukodi Memorial

On July 19, I visited Lukodi village, 17 kilometers from Gulu town. Alongside the RLP team, I watched families exhume the remains of loved ones buried hastily during the LRA attacks of 2004. It was a heavy, sacred moment. The reburials were more than a cultural formality—they were acts of healing, a step toward peace with the past.

The community’s grief still lingers, but so does a powerful resilience. The speeches by elders called for forgiveness and unity, but also carried resentment toward a government that many believe abandoned them during the war. This duality—of hope and hurt—is at the heart of transitional justice.

Looking Forward

My internship in Uganda has been more than a professional assignment; it has been a mirror to my own values and beliefs. I came with theories and frameworks, but I leave with questions—big, unsettling questions that no textbook can answer.

What does justice look like in the eyes of a grieving mother? What does reconciliation mean to a child who never knew peace? These are the questions I now carry with me—not as burdens, but as calls to action.

Northern Uganda has offered me lessons in humility, resilience, and the enduring power of community. I return to my own work not just with more knowledge, but with a deeper sense of responsibility.