On Friday night I was talking with Gill, and she mentioned that she was going to participate in the New York "Gulu Walk". I had never heard of this before, but these are apparently going on around the world to bring attention to the plight of children in Northern Uganda that are being abducted from their families into war. As it turns out, Gulu Walk was actually founded in Toronto: Adrian Bradbury and Kieran Hayward conduct their own ‘night commute’ in Toronto, Canada. Every night in July they walked 12.5 km into downtown Toronto to sleep in front of city hall. After about fours hours sleep they made the trek home at sunrise, all while continuing to work full-time and attempting to maintain their usual daily routine.

I decided to participate because I wanted to be involved in something while I'm here. I also, of course, have an affinity for Uganda having travelled through the countryside in 1999 by bicycle. It also meant that I would be sharing in something Gill herself was doing in New York City at roughly the same time.

Their website said to be there before 4:30pm, and on Saturday afternoon I somehow found myself caught off-guard when I saw on the clock that it was after 3:30pm. I grabbed my jacket and rushed into the elevator, realizing that I needed to get a bite to eat first. I also noted that I had forgotten my umbrella, mitts, a hat, and change for the subway. Stupidly, rather than going back up, I hurried on into the rain. I popped into MEC so that I might at least buy a rain jacket, but when I saw the lineup I left and continued to Yonge St. so I could grab the subway up to Lawrence Ave.

At a park near the Lawrence Ave. station I bought myself an orange "Gulu" toque amidst the crowd of walkers gathered there: at 5C with a cold rain falling, I needed something to keep my head warm. I ended up standing in the rain for 45 minutes before the walk even began. I had a feeling that I would soaked to the bone by the time the 2.5 hour walk was over, and I was certainly right about that, considering that I was already mostly drenched.

We walked down Yonge St. towards downtown, filling up the sidewalk and a full lane on the street, led by a police convoy and officers on bicyles that shuttled back and forth in order to stop traffic on all the sidestreets. It was interesting to hear the reaction of some of the passerbys: some cars would honk in encouragement, others would honk in fury at the temporary delay. I heard a few people ask us what this was for, and a few others comment to themselves, "What the Hell is going on?". As we walked, it was amusing and heartening that people in stores went to the windows to watch us go by. After all: the more that look and wonder, the more attention is brought to the cause.

It was a long, cold walk, and by the time we reached King St. and Metro City Hall I was so cold that I could barely feel my hands. They had muffins and hot drinks, and there was to be music and speeches. After a brief hesitation, I decided to hurry home—in my state of cold sogginess I realized that if I stopped walking the shivering would probably start soon afterwards. Indeed, when I arrived at home the warm shower I took was actually painful—a sign of how red and cold parts of me were.

Throughout the walk I couldn't help thinking that I certainly wasn't getting a lot out of this walk, and that I didn't especially feel like I was a part of something. Rather, I felt cold and lonely. More than empathizing with the Ugandan children I felt myself empathizing with the homeless in Toronto: my memories of Uganda contrasted too much with the evening to really feel a connection.

Later that night, warmed up and watching the coverage on the news, I thought about how this attitude that I had been feeling—"What's in it for me"?—is the most sure way to ruin something. The fact is that this walk didn't (and shouldn't) have anything to do with me: I am there to serve a purpose, and anything that I'm hoping to get out of it are entirely besides the point. This is something I have to continually remind myself of: I only get out of something what I put in. How many times do I go to church, or to a family gathering—or anything—grudgingly, because I forget that it's not all about me? When I was active in Challenge people would sometimes complain that Challenge didn't do anything for them or help them: I knew that was because they went as an audience expecting to be fulfilled. Fulfillment can only come when you take an active participation in something. The same goes for relationships with friends, marriages, government, etc. As long as I'm standing in the sidelines wondering of what's in it for me I can be sure that nothing will be.

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