stats.
in paicho, gulu, uganda. april 2010.
this is a strange place to begin after returning home from africa. still jet-lagged, dazed and blurred, i am sipping coffee and feeling the most simple, mundane (and embarrassing) concern. i just took a look at my stats. for those of you who don't know, these are the numbers that tell me how many people are reading here. not names, just graphs and digits. and today, mine are in the gutter. like halved and then halved again. when i saw these dwindling numbers, my heart skipped a beat. i spiraled into my own petty little world and this number felt, in an instant, like a grade. a measurement. a condemnation. a prediction.
i have just spent time with women in uganda who have survived a genocide. women who have experienced abduction by rebels, been forced to fight and kill, who have bore children by their captors while living in the bush for more years than can be fathomed–all in the name of god. the women i met have lived in refugee camps, and some are just now returning to their original land and rebuilding, after as much as 20+ years. these women have scars. on their faces, their chests, in their gaze. remarkably, they also have feet that still dance, voices that still sing, and hands that still gather firewood. these women find the moment to tickle their children's bellies, and smile at the laughter, between selling matches and soap, grinding millet with a stone, and balancing two gallons of water upon their heads after walking miles to fill the cracked yellow plastic jug. the sun rises and sets without a moment's rest for the women i have met. for most, the burden of familial survival rests squarely on their shoulders while husbands often drink the night and sleep the day away (if not already killed by rebels or by AIDS).
for the women i was privileged to meet in northern uganda, the stats are not good. the numbers suggesting hardship and risk are high. the numbers reflecting aid coming in are low. school fees are difficult to acquire. death and illness tolls are through the roof. with an average of six children, many caring for more as the conflict orphaned countless, the prospect of feeding, clothing, schooling is what fills the day. these women do not have time to think about the statistics, they are too busy fighting to not become one.
there is something to be said for being driven by survival. there is undoubtedly an experience of the pain and suffering endured, traumas that i can only imagine, but the momentum of living takes precedence. for the women i met, happiness is found in their connection with one another, in the time spent in women's groups, where levity and hope are the focus. collective saving, collaboration on crops, and learning to read are where their luxury time is spent. the future, not the past, is consuming.
do i care about my petty little blog stats? the ones that say today that i am not popular? i confess that i do. of course i want to be liked. i have the dream of taking this writing and photography stuff farther. of supporting my family with it, of making my little difference in the world. but i know better than to let these numbers define me, dissuade me, or influence me to do anything except work harder, dig deeper, plant more seeds, and widen my network.
we all have statistics somewhere in our history that suggest we are done for. from what i can tell, after spending a week with women in nothern uganda, these numbers have everything to do with creating our character. and nothing to do with what we are made of.
(please, if you haven't already, take a look at CAFWA's site.)
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10 hours ago - loved meeting David Eagleman tonight. Fascinating and dynamic thinker and speaker. #Incognito
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18 April, 2010
I LIKE YOU!!!
amazing post, lisa, simply amazing.
(gorgeous shot too).
lots of love,
h
18 April, 2010
Oh I know these feelings so well – all of them. It’s hard to remember that you are doing what you are called to do when few people are paying attention.
You are bringing something beautiful to this world. Even if only one person is changed by it, it matters.
I’m in a different place this week – my dreams went up in smoke (or at least had to be put on hold) when something outside my control knocked the bottom out of my world.
We are all broken in some way and trying to find collective healing for the world.
18 April, 2010
Beautiful Lisa….. a perspective we all have to hold in our hearts.
Love, M
18 April, 2010
You are such a beautiful soul.
18 April, 2010
just remember the ebb and flow of everything in this life. also remember how skilled you are at keeping your heart open and sharing that beautiful heart with the world. you ARE making a difference in ways you may never know. not to mention taking gorgeous photos while you’re at it. lovelovelove
18 April, 2010
What you are doing has such significance- it is vital to you and opens doorways for all of us that experience the world through you! I thank you!
18 April, 2010
Your honesty is greatly appreciated. I could write volumes about this kind of thing (or maybe I’d just be talking in circles). Regardless, what you are doing is extraordinary, and that is the truth, no matter what your blog stats. No matter what, period. I love you.
18 April, 2010
I just arrived back from the weekend and what a fresh and vulnerable story to share… I think the photo in the previous post of the little girl with the baby haunts me… breathing…. I cannot even imagine what you have experienced, saw and felt… looking so forward to hearing all the stories.
I love how you intertwine their stories with yours… how honestly and open you are… and to say yes, it matters to me how many people read my blog… or like me… teehee….
i also know it is what it is.. the only thing you have to do right her on this blog is to open your heart and write… write your book… not necessary of the people, but of your life, your experiences, your views… your stories are amazing and intriging and honest…
and i like you. a lot. like crush like…
teehee. happy that you are back safely.
enjoy the time with your family xx
18 April, 2010
I hear you. This tension, the ability to hold our own concerns (however small they may seem in comparison to those of others) with tenderness and compassion, while still allowing ourselves the space to step away from those concerns for a moment and into the spaciousness that is always there. I’ve been spending more time in the company of my fears lately than is ‘normal’ for me, and although it’s not a comfortable place to be and although there is a part of me that judges my own fears to be insignificant in the big scheme of the world, there is another part of me that can meet those fears with kindness and know that it’s only by turning towards them and looking at them with clear eyes and an open heart that I’ll find freedom. Thank you for your words, your photos, your truth and your friendship.
18 April, 2010
You are so loved. You are liked. And we were just waiting for you to get back from your trip =0)
Stats only have the meanings we give them. However, the work you are doing with CAFWA and Salaam Garage. That’s where the true meaning is.
I’m glad you keep it in perspective.
Welcome Home!
18 April, 2010
I’ve been following you and looking at the amazing photos you have posted during your trip. I’ve been reading and watching and praying that you’ll consider selling some of these images because there is something in the eyes of these souls that call out to me.
Forget stats. Know that you are loved.
18 April, 2010
if I read it on the facebook post, does it not register on your typepad stats? Maybe… that could be a reason? no?
18 April, 2010
Such honest & true emotions in your post. Your post brings up so many memories of my struggles of “reentry” into life in the US after life changing raw experiences in Africa. It is safe to say that if your other readers are as touched by your words and pictures as I am, that you are touching many lives. Stats, shmats! xoxo, Leana
18 April, 2010
Welcome home….it’s always hard re-adjusting once you are back. Probably easy to get a little depressed and let things like stats bother you. But look on the bright side…becuase of this trip and these women…you will never be the same again, EVER!
19 April, 2010
I love this photo and post
It does ALL matter, its just hard when its compared to what you have just experienced
love you
19 April, 2010
Oh! i know what you mean! But, sometimes i read you in my blog reader, and i am not sure that appears in stats! Thank you for sharing such lovely images:: it seems your trip was the greatest teacher, for all of us! xoxo
19 April, 2010
You are popular to ME…I always take time to read what you write. xoxo
20 April, 2010
I love this post, and I’m so glad for you to have been able to have such a profound experience in your life. I have a feeling many, like me, have been quietly reading from their readers.
20 April, 2010
your post really does put things into perspective. We (I) get so caught up in the everyday – things seem to really matter, like the mess in the sitting room, whether I’ve updated my blog, yet really in the grand scheme of things, they don’t matter. It’s only because we live in a secure place, in a well built warm house, with plenty of food in the fridge and in our bellies, knowing that we can walk out safely in our neighbourhood, that our children can get a good education and be healthy, that these trivial things seem to matter so much. How important to be reminded from time to time of what really matters in life, and how necessary to have good people like you, to really make a difference to other people who desparately need our help, and to come back and tell the rest of us about it.
20 April, 2010
Amen!!!
I read your blog every day — even if I have read it the day before. I love your words, your photography, and your frankness.
Don’t be discouraged.. Just keep in mind this blog is your cracked water bottle and you are walking the miles to fill it.
Welcome back.
20 April, 2010
Very moving. Keep going!
21 April, 2010
this is really an interesting post, what is popularity really when someone else in the world is struggling to get food and water…great to see you at earth day my friend…your presence is inspiring! let’s find some nature time soon. love you.
25 April, 2010
Hello, beautiful lady. I have been slow getting caught up on my blog reader this week, and it makes me think of the way my own sluggishness in some ways contributed, too, to your lower stats.
I want you to know that, at least from where I stand, those clicks do nothing to define your value. For me, it means a lot to know you simply exist. I smile to know you are out there doing your thing, loving others, photographing beauty and grace.
But I so get this, too. When my life is busy (as it has been of late), I have less time to post … and my stats show the effects of that. It’s hard not to take in some messaging when I look at those dwindling numbers. But it is a post like this from you that helps me lift my head up and remember the truth of my value lies not in numbers. Sometimes noticing how fiercely I believe this about others (like you) helps me believe it more deeply about myself.
I can’t wait to hear more of the stories of your Uganda time and the ladies there. What you’ve shared above of what they’ve faced breaks my heart. I can’t even begin to imagine the stories. But that’s why I’m glad I have you … to tell the stories to me, first-hand.
xoxo,
Christianne
25 April, 2010
isn’t that it? it comes right back to being seen, doesn’t it? not in numbers or graphs, but to have our existence known.
means a lot to me to know that you are there, too, doing what you were meant to do, beautiful wise one. a lot.
xx
25 April, 2010
Let not a silly graph dilute the beauty
of what you have and are experiencing.
Lisa, continue to shine because you are
shedding light on a world that many of
us would not have even known about had
it not been for your willingness to
follow your heart. You have sown seeds,
and although you may not see the fruit
right away, be rest assured, roots are
forming.
12 May, 2010
I am new to your blog. I came here by way of Bluepoppy. I love your photography,i want to paint some of them. I love the colors and texture and the stories they tell. I like what you have to say and I’ll be back