A Journey of Resilience: My Experience at the Workshop in Kampala

When the invitation came through to attend a workshop in Kampala, Uganda, I was overjoyed. I had been looking forward to this opportunity for months, and the excitement bubbled up inside me. The invitation promised to be an enriching experience, a chance to learn, share, and grow alongside other passionate participants. However, as often happens in life, not everything went according to plan.

I had booked my flight well in advance, but a series of minor mishaps led to a stressful start. In my haste to get to the airport, I missed my morning flight. The result? I had to book a last-minute ticket for the first available flight the following morning. The long wait, the rush, the confusion—these were the first signs that this workshop would be anything but ordinary.

The flight, thankfully, was smooth and uneventful. As I touched down in Kampala, I felt a rush of relief. Despite the delays, I had made it. I arrived at the workshop venue just as the participants were on their tea break. This moment of calm was a blessing, allowing me to get my bearings and catch my breath before diving into the action.

When I entered the room, I was greeted with warm smiles and eager faces. They were all excited to get started, and I was eager to catch up. However, my relief was short-lived. The workshop facilitator approached me with a surprise. "We didn't inform you earlier, but you're scheduled to give a presentation today," they said. My heart skipped a beat.

The topic was daunting: I was to present on how the CFS Voluntary Guidelines on Gender Equality and Women and Girls' Empowerment process began, who was involved, what had been accomplished so far, and what the next steps would be. To make matters worse, I was completely unprepared.

"How am I going to pull this off?" I thought, panicking internally. I hadn't brought my laptop, and I had no notes. But I had to trust that things would fall into place. I closed my eyes for a moment and silently asked God for guidance. "Please, help me find a way," I whispered to myself.

With a deep breath, I stood up and was introduced to the group. I quickly explained my unexpected arrival and expressed my excitement to be there. Then, I was handed the floor. There was no turning back.

It was time to think on my feet. In a rush of creativity, I asked the group to write their expectations on sticky notes and place them on the wall. This was my way of both buying time and involving the participants right from the start. The room filled with colorful notes, each representing a unique hope or goal for the session. It felt like I was starting to build a connection, even if I had no laptop and no formal presentation.

I took a deep breath and dove into the topic. With what I knew about the guidelines, I started explaining the history and purpose of the CFS Voluntary Guidelines, outlining how the process came to be, and sharing insights on the key players involved. As I spoke, I realized that I was tapping into a wealth of knowledge and passion, even without the proper resources.

To keep things interactive, I divided the participants into small groups and gave each one a section of the guidelines to discuss. I asked them to present their findings to the larger group. While they worked, I went around, checking in to make sure they understood the material and that I was meeting their expectations. The sticky notes on the wall were a visual reminder of the expectations, and I wanted to ensure I was fulfilling them as best I could.

We also took short breaks for energizers. Laughter filled the room as participants jumped into quick physical activities. Despite my earlier nervousness, the session was starting to flow smoothly. It was a beautiful reminder of how resilience and adaptability can turn even the most unexpected challenges into opportunities for growth.

At the end of the day, I handed out sticky notes again—this time for feedback. I asked participants to share their thoughts on my training skills and to stick their comments on the wall. As I walked around reading their feedback, I was humbled by their positive comments. They appreciated the creative approach I had taken and the way I had kept them engaged, even when things weren't perfect.

On Day 2, I had the opportunity to meet with a group of women in the fishing sector. These women were facing significant challenges—harassment from fishermen, the extortion of illegal taxes, and the ever-present struggle to make their voices heard. Despite their best efforts, reaching out to parliamentarians had yielded little progress. Their frustration was palpable.

Listening to their stories, I was reminded of a powerful proverb: “A single stick may smoke, but it will not burn.” It became clear that these women needed support, solidarity, and a platform to amplify their voices. The challenges they faced were not just personal—they were systemic, rooted in larger issues of gender inequality and social injustice.

In that moment, I promised them that I would connect them with Transparency International Kenya, an organization that could help build their capacity and educate them on their rights. I also offered to facilitate a meeting between the fishing community and parliamentarians to address these pressing issues. I couldn’t promise immediate solutions, but I could offer a pathway forward. Sometimes, the most important thing we can do is provide others with the tools to advocate for themselves.

The next day, I was filled with a sense of hope. One of the participants, Leonida Odongo, a member of World Pulse, was scheduled to lead a session on movement building. Her passion and energy were infectious. She spoke about the power of collective action and the importance of building a movement that could sustain long-term change. The room was buzzing with ideas, and I could see the spark in the eyes of the participants as they began to envision a brighter future for their communities.

The workshop was a reminder of the power of resilience and the strength of human connection. While I had arrived unprepared, I left with a renewed sense of purpose. The challenges I faced were not setbacks—they were opportunities to learn, grow, and make a difference. Through collaboration, creativity, and the support of others, we were able to navigate the complexities of the CFS Voluntary Guidelines, address pressing issues in the fishing sector, and plant the seeds for future advocacy.

As I boarded the plane back home, I reflected on the journey. Life, I thought, is like a river. Sometimes it flows smoothly, and other times it forces us to navigate rapids and unexpected twists. But if we stay resilient and trust in the process, we can make it through—stronger, wiser, and more connected to the people and causes that matter most.

One last thought echoed in my mind, a reminder I would carry with me always: “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” The strength of the women in the workshop, the collective energy of the group, and the support I received from unexpected sources reminded me that together, we could accomplish anything. And with that spirit, I left Kampala, ready to continue the work we had begun.