Part 2: Meet the Cheeleys, the Newest Voluntourists

Poverty, cups, and education -- they all matter

Being that Visiting Voluntourist

I obsessively read articles on voluntourism. If you aren't familiar with this term: volunteer + tourism = voluntourism.

My family (please read: 2 parents, 2 high school siblings and 2 adult siblings) returned from voluntouring in Uganda 1 week ago. 

All of the articles I have read up to this point criticize voluntourism. Why do rich Westerners spend thousands of dollars for a feel-good experience and then wave goodbye to an economically dependent, famished community? That money should be spent on established programs built to sustain the community and provide long-term SUCCESS. Any millennial can sip her imported coffee, admire her Afriheart tattoo and know she doesn't need to voluntour to impact the world.


We visited Uganda for 2 weeks, focused our volunteering efforts on a rehabilitation program for trafficked minors, and focused our tourism efforts on thousands of photos with wild animals. Every time the giraffes moved, I needed 20 more photos to be able to post to Instagram in 3 months #tbt.

The following are my observations regarding Uganda, my family, voluntourism, and menstruation cups. 

Is it the obligation/duty of the rich to fill the needs of the poor?
Moral argument: yes.
Love God, love your neighbor as yourself. If you want to be fed, feed others. If I want to be talked to, then I talk to others. Principle to embrace: It is better to give than it is to receive. Unless the giving involves chocolate. Obviously I vote receiving.

So we go to Africa, and make an opportunity to give without receiving because it is better. Is this our political obligation? No. Our political obligation is to not create war or to malevolently rule anyone.

My experience as a voluntourist was phenomenal, and I would encourage anyone to do what we did. If reading about how a privileged white girl enjoyed her trip abroad, please do not continue down the rest of this blog post. You might vomit. Or maybe skip to the menstruation cups part where she attempts to use her privilege for good.

Pig Farm = 14 Acres Demolished With Machetes

My parents are heavily involved in the creation of a non-profit pig farm. We visited this 14 acre plot, met the men who are currently hacking down the weeds with machetes, and discussed business options with the German Manager who operates the phase 1 demolition. It is important for investors to see their projects, weigh in on decisions, and brainstorm alternative solutions to potential risks and problems. My parents do this and allowed their kids to see it and be part of this process. 

Because Education Matters

Across from the pig farm is a school. The school looks like an abandoned prison from World War II. No electricity, built from clay dirt, each room is barren but for the 2 bench/tables the kids squish into to do their work in front of a chalk board. There are no posters, colors, desks, back packs, or pencil sharpeners at the back of the classroom. 

To this school, my parents brought supplies, soccer balls, food, hygiene products, clothes, shoes in 8 suitcases that my mom purchased at local thrift stores. 

Delivering these supplies holds one purpose: to gain the trust of the locals and build a relationship with the Community Leader in the name of Jesus Christ. The Community Leader holds all the power. If he does not like the leaders of the pig farm, the pig farm will not be respected or protected. 

The day we delivered supplies was the most voluntouristy day of Natasha's life so far. We arrived in 2 vehicles, one carrying supplies, one carrying 8 white people. The van pulled into a field of grass (which the children cut with machetes once per week during their lunch hour). On the grass the villagers gathered on chairs and benches to watch the ceremony. We waited about 10 awkward minutes while being stared at for the ceremony to begin. 

The students joined the villagers, all facing the "front" where a row of chairs had been set up for the White Deliverers. We sat down in our thrones as some select children who I suppose were the Chosen formed a choir to our right. 

They broke out into a Welcome Greeting with choreographed stepping. I found the kid in the back staring up at the sky, offhandedly mouthing the words and every so often taking a step in some direction... whichever direction his foot wanted. I liked that one. Reminded me of the good old days of mandatory choir at The Oaks. 

The Chosen Choir finished their greeting, and the headmaster introduced us. The Pig Farm Director "Daddy Mark" then spoke. He thanked the village for welcoming us, thanked them for such a warm greeting, explained we had supplies to give, and that we come in the name of Jesus. My Dad and Mom each briefly mentioned that education matters, their children matter, and they wanted to help. 

Delivering supplies will be remembered by that village for a long time. They freaked out. And it felt great to give. They knew we cared, the kids just wanted to throw a volleyball around for hours, and they thought our white-people high-fives and thumbs-ups were funny. And then love. So much love. Toys can buy love up to 10 years old, proven fact. I tried to teach them rock, paper, scissors as a method to sort out arguments... turns out they would rather fight to prove dominance. Some things never change. 

The water tank for the pig farm will also provide water to the school, giving them access to toilets instead of two holes in the ground; one for the boys, one for the girls. 

There were villagers who were angry they didn't receive all the things that the children did. They needed mattresses and socks and medical care. They love the children, but their needs weren't met that day and they expected them to be met. When I heard this happened, I was disappointed in these selfish adults. Then I remembered all the birthdays and Christmas mornings that I felt that way. I received a few beautiful and thoughtful gifts, but one sibling received something more expensive. Greed. Jealousy. Self-pity. How human. Being human breaks many cultural barriers. 

My snapshot moment were the teachers. They couldn't contain themselves. So thankful for food for their students, for chalk to write with, for soap to clean themselves, for shoes to stand in. Teachers in every nation care with big bursting hearts about their students. Zach was like that. He taught English as a second language. He constantly problem-solved, stayed late, accepted payment in the form of rabbits or self-defense lessons... because he loved his students. 

I thought of the teachers who had liked me, who cared about whether I was paying attention and who worked hard to plan a stellar field trip. Teachers everywhere love their students and they will continue to love their students whether their school has nothing or everything. 

Financing Freedom

The money from the pig farm will directly finance the growth of the Rehabilitation House called Willow International. Those girls are working to regain an identity, a future, and rebuild a life worth living. My family melted into theirs. Ugandan culture is filled with smiles and warm welcomes and song and dance and claps. How could someone NOT want to visit that beautiful land? 

Everybody Needs a Big Brother

I saw how heavily Uganda depends on Foreign Aid. We built dependency into their expectations. We (Westerners) have advanced levels of everything material. Education, medical, government, technological, globally... And we Big Brother them so that they don't have to do it themselves. And they could do it themselves. They are smart enough, they could access the resources, they could build themselves. England did. America did. Germany did. Uganda doesn't. Thousands of adults hang out all day. They walk slowly, they don't value punctuality, they would rather wait than work. Their dreams are small. Instead of fixing problems in their community such as malaria, accessing filtered water, or implementing one National Language, they hope to be "business woman" who sells shoes or clothes next to the other 2,000 vendors in downtown Kampala. There is an entrepreneurial attitude in America that is hard to find in Uganda. 

Poverty is what they know; it is built into their lifestyles. American poverty is a much larger spectrum, some people in America are without electricity. Some poverty means they live off of the government their whole lives. In America, we can work our way out of poverty. In a third world country such as Uganda, they don't. They want to carry banana bunches on their heads, even though carts exist. They want to walk and hand pump water instead of lay down pipe lines. 

Menstruation Cups Because Education Matters

I gave 4 girls menstruation cups. Menstruation creates a huge problem for the girls in middle school. They often skip school while on their periods, which can mean they miss anywhere from 9-24 weeks of school in any given year. Missing that much school forces them to drop out. Because of this massive Third World problem, I am testing a solution. Use this cup instead of your reused, hand-washed pads and rags. Then they can learn in a classroom, contract fewer diseases, and take control of managing the body's natural cycle. They were skeptical. The cup looks intimidating, it sounds scary to properly place it inside your body, and maybe it gets stuck and never comes out? I promised it won't. As an athlete, I use this because it lasts all day, I don't carry extra back up supplies, and I don't worry about leaking.

Change is scary. The unknown is scary. If fear dictates every decision, then problems will not get solved. I will now wait to find out what they think of these menstruation cups. Hopefully one day I will be able to collect the people and resources to distribute menstruation cups throughout Uganda and keep girls in school. Educate the women and begin to relieve the poverty.