give.
Bigger Than Myself
One month ago I was in northern Uganda near the South Sudan border at the Idiwa Refugee Settlement. We had driven 3 hours over roads that can best be described as jarring potholes. Despite our driver's best efforts that description is probably too kind and certainly too gentle. Let's just say a Valium sounded like a good idea. Despite being in a bit of a stupor after hours of travel my spirits were buoyed by arriving at our destination. So imagine my surprise when I emerged from the van and was slapped in the face with a 108 degrees. Burning sun. Parched land. Immense harshness. I'll be honest...the words barren and godforsaken came to mind.
Listen, I think we can all agree that I am a soft, privileged American accustomed to paved roads and a cooler climate. And honestly, no amount of preparation would've helped. I had no context for this experience. No frame of reference.
I was in Uganda with a small group visiting medical facilities with Medical Teams International (MTI). They are a Christian relief organization that responds to natural disasters and the refugee crisis around the world by providing medical & dental care and humanitarian aid. Our group was essentially embedded with the MTI team as we had access to remote refugee settlements that would be virtually inaccessible to most foreigners.
A trip like this is life changing in a dramatic way. Intense. Uncomfortable. Profound.
It's one thing to view distressing images on a screen and feel a momentary pang of compassion. It is entirely another to view that distressing situation in person. That refugee is no longer a nameless face.
I cannot un-see the mother carrying a 40-lb jerry can of water or large bundle on her head with a baby strapped to her back.
I cannot un-see children running barefoot on gravel with scraps for clothing.
I cannot un-see the mother with the beautiful smile, her baby's serious gaze an apt reminder of his burns.
These things I cannot un-see. These images are roughly etched in a place that feels even deeper than my heart.
These are real people. Displaced. Traumatized. Vulnerable. Fleeing from rebel fighting and famine.
I'm reminded of the graphic poem about refugees by Warsan Shire titled "Home". In it she writes bluntly and poignantly that"....no one puts their children in a boat unless the water is safer than the land.....no one chooses refugee camps....unless chased by the barrel of a gun....no one leaves home....unless anywhere is safer than here."
Quite frankly it's hard to imagine. Ceaseless fear. Unending starvation. Chronic violence.
It can feel hopeless. And yet I witnessed firsthand actions that defy hopelessness. Actions of faith bringing light into darkness. Actions of courage. Kindness. Compassion.
I'm not describing all this to make you feel bad. I simply have felt challenged to make my art about something bigger than myself. So for 2018 I will be donating 25% of everything I sell to MTI (you can read their financial reports for the past 10 years here). Whether you buy my art or not I hope you will join me.
Because, I believe if we link arms we can make a difference.
“When you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a taller fence.”
“If you can’t feed a hundred people, then feed just one.”