Sunday, March 28, 2010
a routine trip gone awry
Yesterday afternoon two friends and I decided to head into Kampala and see what was happening in Uganda's capital city. As we're just entering the rainy season, our trip was postponed by a sudden downpour. (The sky here opens up in the blink of an eye...sunny...sunny...monsoon.) Plus, rain usually means power outages so we sat, in the dark with anxious eyes pointed skyward, willing the rain to let up.At the first hint of cessation we rushed out and hopped in the mutatu for our $1.50 ride into the city. The drive usually takes about an hour, one of the primary landmarks we pass is the Mandela National Stadium, and it is always mentioned that each one of us is hankering to go to a soccer game at the venue! (While soccer is huge here, affection and attention lies primarily with the Premier League. Uganda's own national team falling a distant second.) Low and behold, as we passed the stadium, there was a big pre-game bonanza going on; we immediately ditched our Kampala plans and jumped out of the car, ecstatic over our luck and good timing!Uganda and Burundi were playing in the African Nations Cup. ( I don't know if this is indeed the name of the tournament, no one was able to give me a straight answer.) Obviously we bought Uganda t shirts and, as those suckers slid on over our greasy muzungu hair, immediately looked like natives. Some Ugandan fans bought the three of us whistles and I'm pretty sure with that, we catapulted to the best fans in the stadium. (Read: a far from full stadium.) Turns out I am fairly phenomenally talented when it comes to whistle music, like maybe Carnegie Hall good. I'll have to see how my skills meter out once I get back stateside. Stay tuned.Uganda beat perennial soccer powerhouse, Burundi, 5-0. Go Cranes! After the game we were allowed onto the field with the players and a few other fans! It was pretty awesome, regardless of the fact that people were taking more pictures of the three white girls on the field than the soccer players. We took dozens of fairly asinine pictures of us int he players box, etc. We really felt fortunate for having stumbled across such a cool event!n Below are a couple of pics from the field, post game.
We wandered back out of the stadium and over to the main road to find a taxi home. It wasn't particularly congested and I was a bit taken aback when a man ran into me quite forcefully and then SNAP the strap of my friend's bag broke as he yanked it and ran across the street and down into a shanty town. About a dozen men took off after him as is common in this country; there are many instances of someone being beaten to death after theft. We were guaranteed the bag and contents would be retrieved, the use of the word "definitely returned" was a tip-off. After a couple of minutes the three of us were told to walk down in the shanty town "where it was safe". Immediately we were descended upon by about 30 screaming villagers who were holding the crushed bag and demanding a reward. I'd become the group spokesperson and I wasn't about to let these people scream at us so I took the bag, told them we could talk about it up by the stadium and proceeded to walk back up the hill, the mob on our heels. Pissed. They were pissed.
Once we reached the street it was evident to all three of us that the thief and the "heroes" were in cahoots with one another. Little kids were screaming at us to not give them money because they were lying. The problem with all of these simple realizations is that they had to come when we had what was now, probably 50 people, screaming in our faces. I started to negotiate with them, they wanted more money than was even in my friend's bag. The crowd refused to budge and a couple of men with some integrity emerged from the group and tried to get us onto bodas to take us out of the situation but the mob wouldn't allow it. About ten minutes passed before the fully riot geared police came out from the stadium and escorted us back into the stadium. As we went back through the gate there were people screaming that we were unethical and indecent. Whatever. Drunks. I am sure that nine times out of ten their little ploy works very well and scared foreigners fork over money for the bravery of the locals...but get real! The main question is, of course, why they didn't just keep the money that was in the bag initially. Oh, well - it was a crazy experience!! We ended up getting a mutatu on the other side of the stadium and making it home without further incident.
I'm back to Golomolo in the morning and then some friends and I are going east, nearly to Kenya, to Sipi Falls for the long Easter weekend. Hopefully I will be able to post again before then but only time will tell.
All my love,
Frannie
We wandered back out of the stadium and over to the main road to find a taxi home. It wasn't particularly congested and I was a bit taken aback when a man ran into me quite forcefully and then SNAP the strap of my friend's bag broke as he yanked it and ran across the street and down into a shanty town. About a dozen men took off after him as is common in this country; there are many instances of someone being beaten to death after theft. We were guaranteed the bag and contents would be retrieved, the use of the word "definitely returned" was a tip-off. After a couple of minutes the three of us were told to walk down in the shanty town "where it was safe". Immediately we were descended upon by about 30 screaming villagers who were holding the crushed bag and demanding a reward. I'd become the group spokesperson and I wasn't about to let these people scream at us so I took the bag, told them we could talk about it up by the stadium and proceeded to walk back up the hill, the mob on our heels. Pissed. They were pissed.Once we reached the street it was evident to all three of us that the thief and the "heroes" were in cahoots with one another. Little kids were screaming at us to not give them money because they were lying. The problem with all of these simple realizations is that they had to come when we had what was now, probably 50 people, screaming in our faces. I started to negotiate with them, they wanted more money than was even in my friend's bag. The crowd refused to budge and a couple of men with some integrity emerged from the group and tried to get us onto bodas to take us out of the situation but the mob wouldn't allow it. About ten minutes passed before the fully riot geared police came out from the stadium and escorted us back into the stadium. As we went back through the gate there were people screaming that we were unethical and indecent. Whatever. Drunks. I am sure that nine times out of ten their little ploy works very well and scared foreigners fork over money for the bravery of the locals...but get real! The main question is, of course, why they didn't just keep the money that was in the bag initially. Oh, well - it was a crazy experience!! We ended up getting a mutatu on the other side of the stadium and making it home without further incident.
I'm back to Golomolo in the morning and then some friends and I are going east, nearly to Kenya, to Sipi Falls for the long Easter weekend. Hopefully I will be able to post again before then but only time will tell.
All my love,
Frannie
Saturday, March 27, 2010
golomolo
All week I've been thinking about how I ought to go into business creating the anti-sleep machine. Rather than the more restful counterparts of "ocean breeze" or "rain forest" mine would be aptly entitled "huge mosquitoes buzzing outside your net all night." It'd be a surefire way to stay awake all night. DON'T steal my idea, I know it is a REALLY good one. :)
This is where the story gets good.
The past couple of nights I have been hearing a whooshing and squeaking noise all night but since there's a huge bird-filled tree just outside my window I was attributing it to that. However, that reasoning didn't explain what, in my opinion, were animal droppings that I was finding each morning on my window ledge but I'm no animal detective so I just kept my opinions mum. On Thursday night I walked into my bedroom and yup, sure enough, bats. I ended up counting eight in total, just chilling in the space above the window. Absolutely not. So under my mosquito net I sat all night, reading and writing with a head lamp that I was constantly spot lighting onto the bats and blasting "Party in the USA" on my ipod. (Go ahead and judge, there were bats in my room, I needed some America!) I notified the authorities that be yesterday morning and my room is being sprayed this weekend but- Grossssssssss!!!!! I was handling the hummingbird sized moths and lizards on my wall so well, too! I was really starting to think of myself as kind of Steve Irwin in Africa. HA!
Let's forget the bats. I'm now at my new organization, GOSSACE and other than my nocturnal visitors, it has been a really amazing experience so far.
The man who started it, Vincent, was diagnosed HIV+ in 1992 and rather than take the disease as a death sentence, he decided to educate himself about the virus that was was wiping out his peers. As the years passed, he was volunteering for various organizations, doing HIV counseling for families, and just trying to stay involved in the HIV community. One day a street child approached him in Kampala and introduced himself as the child of two now deceased patients whom Vincent had counseled; slowly Vincent began to realize that the cities here are crawling with street children who were orphaned by AIDS and were now begging and starving to stay alive. So, in 2000, regardless of the fact that he had no money or other resource, he found 30 kids and brought them east to a town called Golomolo. The struggle was immense, he initially kept the children dry with plastic bags and found himself walking 30 kilometers into the nearest town each day to try and find money for food. The first thing I noticed about Vincent upon meeting him is that his vision is unshakable and his faith never wavers.
Eventually grass huts were built and small plots of land have allowed for some sustainable farming but feeding these, now 150, kids is a constant struggle. I find myself giving away much of my food because the sight of the kids walking by with nothing more than a plate of poshu and a couple of beans is too much to handle. Plus, most children I talk to are usually four or five years older than their size would suggest; while for some their size is an unfortunate side effect of being HIV+, in most it is simple malnutrition at play.
I have never been made to feel so welcome by a group that has so little.
The kids are so tender and anxious for any type of affection. A little boy named Stewart comes to my room each night to teach me new Lugandan vocabulary words; finding a spot to hold on my hand is akin to finding a sweet piece of beachfront property, there's nothing like those little groping hands being wet, too - special surprise; I have pen pal letters from three girls who like to come by to brush my hair, amazed at how soft it is. Every child there has a shaved head and I just don't have the heart to tell them that the "softness" is grease and my brush has gotten more use in the past week than it has over the entirety of the rest of my time in Uganda. (Stop shaking your head knowingly, Sophia! :))
Regardless of their sweetness, there's clearly a very injured streak running through these children, a feeling of having been abandoned - a palpable sadness. Who can blame them? Living on the street and being HIV+ is a lot for an eight year old to deal with; it's also a lot for a 28 year old to get her head around.
I've spent much of the week trying to bond with and gain the trust of the students. I've been teaching classes on setting goals and staying healthy; yeah, I even assigned homework. I'm a hard teacher.
I've also sat in on some classes and while these are far and away the best teachers I've seen here, I made the mistake of sitting in on an English class - it just isn't something a native speaker should do. I didn't want to correct the teacher in front of his students, so I've resolved to keep my language out of his business. Additionally, I sat in on a 7th grade social studies class all about the slave trade. Talk about really feeling like the jack ass responsible for your entire continent. We should all apologize to Liberia, not only for the slave trade but also for saddling them with the dubious honor of being the only other country not on the metric system.
Much of my time has been spent with the nurse, too, talking about malaria and HIV; helping to administer ARV's to the HIV+ students, pills that are bigger than their little bodies, was surreal....You're telling me THIS is the face of AIDS in Africa?
As for malaria, it's extremely problematic at GOSSACE because of the remote location and fairly wet conditions; but also the students, who sleep THREE to a bed, don't have mosquito nets.
Many afternoons I've assisted in the construction of an irrigation pipeline for the school's crops. Helping entails hauling, up hill, bricks. Literally, brick by brick and I'm the only one not carrying those suckers on my head :)
Being out at the school, unattached from the world that I've come to know in Uganda, has been so refreshing. Seeing these teachers and people who have bypassed the city life in exchange for a quiet and removed existence, dedicated to their cause. It has reminded me that with all the different tracks one can take, all the ups and downs in life, in the end all that should really count is making something beautiful out of your life. Finding a type of beauty that fits YOU, just like an old pair of favorite shoes.
Happiest of days,
Fran-E
And, of course, how about those Spartans :) I was awake throughout the whole time the game was being played...looking at the ceiling. I thought of it as solidarity. Go green!
This is where the story gets good.
The past couple of nights I have been hearing a whooshing and squeaking noise all night but since there's a huge bird-filled tree just outside my window I was attributing it to that. However, that reasoning didn't explain what, in my opinion, were animal droppings that I was finding each morning on my window ledge but I'm no animal detective so I just kept my opinions mum. On Thursday night I walked into my bedroom and yup, sure enough, bats. I ended up counting eight in total, just chilling in the space above the window. Absolutely not. So under my mosquito net I sat all night, reading and writing with a head lamp that I was constantly spot lighting onto the bats and blasting "Party in the USA" on my ipod. (Go ahead and judge, there were bats in my room, I needed some America!) I notified the authorities that be yesterday morning and my room is being sprayed this weekend but- Grossssssssss!!!!! I was handling the hummingbird sized moths and lizards on my wall so well, too! I was really starting to think of myself as kind of Steve Irwin in Africa. HA!
Let's forget the bats. I'm now at my new organization, GOSSACE and other than my nocturnal visitors, it has been a really amazing experience so far.
The man who started it, Vincent, was diagnosed HIV+ in 1992 and rather than take the disease as a death sentence, he decided to educate himself about the virus that was was wiping out his peers. As the years passed, he was volunteering for various organizations, doing HIV counseling for families, and just trying to stay involved in the HIV community. One day a street child approached him in Kampala and introduced himself as the child of two now deceased patients whom Vincent had counseled; slowly Vincent began to realize that the cities here are crawling with street children who were orphaned by AIDS and were now begging and starving to stay alive. So, in 2000, regardless of the fact that he had no money or other resource, he found 30 kids and brought them east to a town called Golomolo. The struggle was immense, he initially kept the children dry with plastic bags and found himself walking 30 kilometers into the nearest town each day to try and find money for food. The first thing I noticed about Vincent upon meeting him is that his vision is unshakable and his faith never wavers.
Eventually grass huts were built and small plots of land have allowed for some sustainable farming but feeding these, now 150, kids is a constant struggle. I find myself giving away much of my food because the sight of the kids walking by with nothing more than a plate of poshu and a couple of beans is too much to handle. Plus, most children I talk to are usually four or five years older than their size would suggest; while for some their size is an unfortunate side effect of being HIV+, in most it is simple malnutrition at play.
I have never been made to feel so welcome by a group that has so little.
The kids are so tender and anxious for any type of affection. A little boy named Stewart comes to my room each night to teach me new Lugandan vocabulary words; finding a spot to hold on my hand is akin to finding a sweet piece of beachfront property, there's nothing like those little groping hands being wet, too - special surprise; I have pen pal letters from three girls who like to come by to brush my hair, amazed at how soft it is. Every child there has a shaved head and I just don't have the heart to tell them that the "softness" is grease and my brush has gotten more use in the past week than it has over the entirety of the rest of my time in Uganda. (Stop shaking your head knowingly, Sophia! :))
Regardless of their sweetness, there's clearly a very injured streak running through these children, a feeling of having been abandoned - a palpable sadness. Who can blame them? Living on the street and being HIV+ is a lot for an eight year old to deal with; it's also a lot for a 28 year old to get her head around.
I've spent much of the week trying to bond with and gain the trust of the students. I've been teaching classes on setting goals and staying healthy; yeah, I even assigned homework. I'm a hard teacher.
I've also sat in on some classes and while these are far and away the best teachers I've seen here, I made the mistake of sitting in on an English class - it just isn't something a native speaker should do. I didn't want to correct the teacher in front of his students, so I've resolved to keep my language out of his business. Additionally, I sat in on a 7th grade social studies class all about the slave trade. Talk about really feeling like the jack ass responsible for your entire continent. We should all apologize to Liberia, not only for the slave trade but also for saddling them with the dubious honor of being the only other country not on the metric system.
Much of my time has been spent with the nurse, too, talking about malaria and HIV; helping to administer ARV's to the HIV+ students, pills that are bigger than their little bodies, was surreal....You're telling me THIS is the face of AIDS in Africa?
As for malaria, it's extremely problematic at GOSSACE because of the remote location and fairly wet conditions; but also the students, who sleep THREE to a bed, don't have mosquito nets.
Many afternoons I've assisted in the construction of an irrigation pipeline for the school's crops. Helping entails hauling, up hill, bricks. Literally, brick by brick and I'm the only one not carrying those suckers on my head :)
Being out at the school, unattached from the world that I've come to know in Uganda, has been so refreshing. Seeing these teachers and people who have bypassed the city life in exchange for a quiet and removed existence, dedicated to their cause. It has reminded me that with all the different tracks one can take, all the ups and downs in life, in the end all that should really count is making something beautiful out of your life. Finding a type of beauty that fits YOU, just like an old pair of favorite shoes.
Happiest of days,
Fran-E
And, of course, how about those Spartans :) I was awake throughout the whole time the game was being played...looking at the ceiling. I thought of it as solidarity. Go green!
Monday, March 22, 2010
uganda in visuals v 3.0 - safari special edition :)
To be succinct: Safari is pretty magical, but not really for the reasons that one anticipates.
Now let's be less succinct: Last I left you I was headed into Kampala for the evening. After some time spent downtown we headed into our compound where I hung out with my first Americans! Two Peace Corps guys and, AND, get this: We found the basketball games! Given it was the opening games of the first day, but I was so excited I was near tears and vibrating all over the place. I had such a fun time with my Americans, just high fivin' and betting dollar beers over plays. Africa AND basketball? Sign me up!
Early the next morning we took off for Murchison Falls with our safari group of six other folks, which included two OTHER Americans! (One of whom happens to be your neighbor in Milwaukee, Johno! Small world!)
After about six hours we reached the falls; I don't want to be a spoiler but it were the best part of the weekend. They were just absolutely magnificent. Stunning. Exquisite. We hiked in to look from the front.
And then our guide brought us up above, practically on top of them!
The pillar I am standing on is the remnants of a bridge that was built to cross the falls. It only lasted a year before a storm wiped it out.
Looking down the Victoria Nile from atop the falls.
The power that passes through there every second was mind boggling. I took so many pictures, I couldn't get over the scale and force of what the Nile's bringing to the table. After a couple of hours, drenched from mist, we left for our lodge; I was in desperate need of a camera charge.
After getting settled into our tents we were given the low down on the hippos and warthogs that wander into camp at night. I l-o-v-e hippos but they're not exactly cuddly or an animal with which you want to get up close and personal. Have you ever seen the Parent Trap? There's the scene when the woman hits sticks together to keep mountain lions away? I couldn't find any sticks but that is EXACTLY how I felt! I did see a warthog and her babies, though. Warthogs are hilarious looking, their tails stand straight up like flags going into battle and they have a bad hair style, like a circa 1989 mullet. (I mean bad in the sense of Michael Jackson, RIP.)
Hakuna Matata. And yes, that song was sung extensively throughout the trip. What muzungus. This warthog may or may not have been right outside my tent because I may or may not have poured dried corn as a bait to lure her in. I'm such a hypocrite.
Now here's the bad news. My camera, more or less, didn't charge. It was almost as if we were out in the bush in sub-Saharan Africa and the power source wasn't too strong. Go figure. I was SO disappointed but in a way, it forced me to really enjoy the moment and that was rad. I did take several flip videos but as a disclaimer: My pictures aren't great.
The game drive:
The famous red dirt; found everywhere. And by "everywhere" I mean it never comes out of my hair, clothing, bag, skin - it's pervasive. But kind of awesome looking.
Giraffe's are the funniest animals, eh? These are three males, the two larger ones kept "necking" each other to try to start a fight. I had all my money on the one on the right.
This is our guard, Simon. He was standing atop our cruiser looking for a lion that we'd gotten word was out in the grass. Seriously- the best camouflage I have ever seen (or not seen) because we never found her!
Talk about an animal that doesn't get enough credit. A water buffalo is one big, lumbering beast. There were herds of them everywhere; it was kind of like Uganda does Dances with Wolves.
Two antelope fighting. This was another creature that was EVERYWHERE. Normally, I wouldn't have been all that fascinated by them but I read the book Born to Run a couple of weeks ago and now I think they're pretty amazing. Anyone who has read that book knows what I am talking about and anyone who hasn't read it - what are you waiting for? Go get it!
This little lady and her mother were the first animals we saw Saturday morning. Quite the welcoming party.
My first hippo! The Nile is filled to the gills with hippos but this guy had most likely lost a fight and been cast out of the river to nurse his wounds and recover his pride. What a doll.
The boat trip:
That afternoon we went on a raft down the Nile and saw more hippos than I could count. It was also poured. Monsooned. Almost swamped the boat. That's such a comforting feeling, the crocs surrounding the boat as the rain is POURING down.
Speaking of crocodiles, here is one having lunch with (from) a dead hippo mid-river. The hippo's stomach was already totally gutted and on our return to dock, the entire carcass had been cleaned.
Here's a group of hippos in a slightly more life like state. Aren't the beautiful? I was so smitten with them.
Here's my final picture of the day, it hints at the rainfall to come.
Like I said, I was frustrated I couldn't take more/better photos but the scenery was so unbelievable. There's always the initial rush of seeing the animals but in the end, it was the brilliance of the landscape, the ethereal light from the sunrise and the majesty of the sky that really captured my heart. I actually cried on the boat ride, it was that moving.
On Sunday morning we departed Murchison for a rhino sanctuary, this was particularly cool as we trekked on foot. There are only nine rhinos left in Uganda and they're very closely monitored.
I was a little skeptical about our safety advice: "Run and find a tree to climb."
But, we only had to skedaddle once and I felt very confident in the guide's abilities.
You'll all be relieved to know my camera righted itself and charged in full last night; crisis averted.
Have an amazing week! Go Green! :)
Love, love and more love,
FES
Now let's be less succinct: Last I left you I was headed into Kampala for the evening. After some time spent downtown we headed into our compound where I hung out with my first Americans! Two Peace Corps guys and, AND, get this: We found the basketball games! Given it was the opening games of the first day, but I was so excited I was near tears and vibrating all over the place. I had such a fun time with my Americans, just high fivin' and betting dollar beers over plays. Africa AND basketball? Sign me up!
Early the next morning we took off for Murchison Falls with our safari group of six other folks, which included two OTHER Americans! (One of whom happens to be your neighbor in Milwaukee, Johno! Small world!)
After about six hours we reached the falls; I don't want to be a spoiler but it were the best part of the weekend. They were just absolutely magnificent. Stunning. Exquisite. We hiked in to look from the front.
And then our guide brought us up above, practically on top of them!
The pillar I am standing on is the remnants of a bridge that was built to cross the falls. It only lasted a year before a storm wiped it out.
Looking down the Victoria Nile from atop the falls.The power that passes through there every second was mind boggling. I took so many pictures, I couldn't get over the scale and force of what the Nile's bringing to the table. After a couple of hours, drenched from mist, we left for our lodge; I was in desperate need of a camera charge.
After getting settled into our tents we were given the low down on the hippos and warthogs that wander into camp at night. I l-o-v-e hippos but they're not exactly cuddly or an animal with which you want to get up close and personal. Have you ever seen the Parent Trap? There's the scene when the woman hits sticks together to keep mountain lions away? I couldn't find any sticks but that is EXACTLY how I felt! I did see a warthog and her babies, though. Warthogs are hilarious looking, their tails stand straight up like flags going into battle and they have a bad hair style, like a circa 1989 mullet. (I mean bad in the sense of Michael Jackson, RIP.)
Hakuna Matata. And yes, that song was sung extensively throughout the trip. What muzungus. This warthog may or may not have been right outside my tent because I may or may not have poured dried corn as a bait to lure her in. I'm such a hypocrite.Now here's the bad news. My camera, more or less, didn't charge. It was almost as if we were out in the bush in sub-Saharan Africa and the power source wasn't too strong. Go figure. I was SO disappointed but in a way, it forced me to really enjoy the moment and that was rad. I did take several flip videos but as a disclaimer: My pictures aren't great.
The game drive:
The famous red dirt; found everywhere. And by "everywhere" I mean it never comes out of my hair, clothing, bag, skin - it's pervasive. But kind of awesome looking.
Giraffe's are the funniest animals, eh? These are three males, the two larger ones kept "necking" each other to try to start a fight. I had all my money on the one on the right.
This is our guard, Simon. He was standing atop our cruiser looking for a lion that we'd gotten word was out in the grass. Seriously- the best camouflage I have ever seen (or not seen) because we never found her!
Talk about an animal that doesn't get enough credit. A water buffalo is one big, lumbering beast. There were herds of them everywhere; it was kind of like Uganda does Dances with Wolves.
Two antelope fighting. This was another creature that was EVERYWHERE. Normally, I wouldn't have been all that fascinated by them but I read the book Born to Run a couple of weeks ago and now I think they're pretty amazing. Anyone who has read that book knows what I am talking about and anyone who hasn't read it - what are you waiting for? Go get it!
This little lady and her mother were the first animals we saw Saturday morning. Quite the welcoming party.
My first hippo! The Nile is filled to the gills with hippos but this guy had most likely lost a fight and been cast out of the river to nurse his wounds and recover his pride. What a doll.The boat trip:
That afternoon we went on a raft down the Nile and saw more hippos than I could count. It was also poured. Monsooned. Almost swamped the boat. That's such a comforting feeling, the crocs surrounding the boat as the rain is POURING down.
Speaking of crocodiles, here is one having lunch with (from) a dead hippo mid-river. The hippo's stomach was already totally gutted and on our return to dock, the entire carcass had been cleaned.
Here's a group of hippos in a slightly more life like state. Aren't the beautiful? I was so smitten with them.
Here's my final picture of the day, it hints at the rainfall to come.
Like I said, I was frustrated I couldn't take more/better photos but the scenery was so unbelievable. There's always the initial rush of seeing the animals but in the end, it was the brilliance of the landscape, the ethereal light from the sunrise and the majesty of the sky that really captured my heart. I actually cried on the boat ride, it was that moving.
On Sunday morning we departed Murchison for a rhino sanctuary, this was particularly cool as we trekked on foot. There are only nine rhinos left in Uganda and they're very closely monitored.
I was a little skeptical about our safety advice: "Run and find a tree to climb."
But, we only had to skedaddle once and I felt very confident in the guide's abilities.
You'll all be relieved to know my camera righted itself and charged in full last night; crisis averted.
Have an amazing week! Go Green! :)
Love, love and more love,
FES
Thursday, March 18, 2010
a change to come
The statement that has rendered the most shock and awe from Ugandans was my response to the question about how often we're able to get onto the internet in America. I tried to explain that between work, home, school and your neighborhood coffee shop, we're never really NOT online. Seriously - shock and awe. The absolute incredulity makes sense as many people here don't have email addresses yet, let alone something like facebook! I tell you this as background.
The only Ugandans that love muzungus more than children are the men. No doubt they see us as their ticket outta here but regardless, they're on us like flies to poop. The opening line is usually some form of "I love you" and then inevitably they inquire for our email address because they love having friends from all over the world. Very sweet, eh? I am sure I'm receiving many emails at my email address: frannie_usarocks_coollove@hotmail.com
I have decided to spend the remaining month of my trip with a different organization. GOSSACE (Good Spirit Action Center) is located in the town of Golomolo and works with orphaned children of HIV patients. Obviously some of these kids have befallen a similar HIV+ status and the organization was started by and mostly staffed by HIV+ people, too. I felt that working side by side with a group of people who have such personal and intimate knowledge of HIV would be beneficial to me. And hard. Very hard; but I felt myself becoming too comfortable (and a bit exploited over my whiteness) at MACRO and opted for the change. I am very excited about the challenge! I start on Monday.
This week I accompanied a friend to her village care project in the town of Buikwe. It was a worthwhile week full of a different kind of learning. Each morning was spent teaching science and math at a nearby school. This school operates without collecting school fees from the students and consequently the teachers often don't get paid - it was a fascinating dynamic to watch and spoke so highly of the teacher's commitment to education. That being said, the absolute prevalence of repetition learning and absence of original thought in their educational system is striking. Children (and teachers) are unable to deviate from the lesson plan in anyway.
The evenings have been spent doing community projects. There is a collective of people who volunteer around the community, helping one another out at home and eventually, everyone gets their own project finished. On Monday we built a plate stand; I learned to dig with a spear and then, like some African bandit, learned to chop down banana trees with a machete. My aim was not stellar but with each passing whack I improved. No one lost limbs = success.
On Tuesday we set off to build a mud hut and I was SO excited about it! However, it hadn't rained in several days which meant not only was it almost unbearably hot but also there there was no water. Of course without water there's no mud so we were out of luck for our hut. However, no water presents myriad other problems so off we went, jerry cans in hand, to fetch water so this family would be able to cook, etc. Well, fetching water turned into one of the most humbling things that I've ever done. The walking distance to the water source in the heat was numbing enough but to see where they got their water - I just stopped and gawked. There were about ten jerry cans ahead of us and each community member stood there, helping the next and making sure that everyone got their 20 liters filled. The pool of water itself was algae covered, murky and people would be forced to flip bugs out of the way prior to submerging their cans. I can only hope that water was well boiled prior to use. The community effort was so moving and beautiful; sometimes I think we in the west are only now starting to remember that sense of community and friendship.
On Wednesday we leveled the dirt floor of a mud hut. This means pouring water all over the birt and then chopping it into loose soil. After that, the loose is loaded onto potato sacks and carried away from the hut. More water is poured and banana leaves are laid all over the ground to hold in the moisture and prepare the ground to be rolled with a log. It was a painstaking process and truthfully, I didn't see much difference once we finished. :) The residents were so grateful though and cut down a behemoth papaya and stuffed us full!
I might seem a little out of it today, I haven't gotten a ton of sleep this week. I stayed with a pastor and his wife and somehow it has created a snowball rolling down my thoughts. Obviously, as many Ugandan men seem to be, the pastor was long winded and always right. In the past I would have debated with him over his antiquated takes on women, education and health. But this week I did nothing more than listen and feel the most deep sense of compassion and loss for him. Obviously he has the best intentions at heart but his lack of tolerance for others (there was a Muslim day school behind their home and he considered himself tolerant for listening to their calls to prayer each day) seemed so contradictory to what he stood for. I concluded that over the past couple of years I have sometimes felt the same way about myself. I want nothing more than to help people and to make an impact but I just have been unsure as to how to do it, feeling so underutilized where I was. The boiled into a lot of frustration and I felt very misunderstood, very often. I am working on that in myself but importantly, I gained a real sense of understanding and camaraderie for those who find themselves in that position. Everyone makes mistakes like that sometimes; I guess it all boils down to forgiveness.
I am headed to safari this weekend and am insanely excited about it! A friend and I are just about to head out to Kampala and then up to Murchison Falls tomorrow. I'm hoping for lots of hippos! Speaking of Kampala, there have been riots there over the past couple of days over students who were killed during a peaceful protest. It kind of (hopefully) topped off on Tuesday evening when a historic tomb full of Bugandan kings was set aflame. Don't worry, I'll be fine, we're on the other side of town in a compound and then leave early tomorrow morning.
Much love and deeply missing you,
FS
The only Ugandans that love muzungus more than children are the men. No doubt they see us as their ticket outta here but regardless, they're on us like flies to poop. The opening line is usually some form of "I love you" and then inevitably they inquire for our email address because they love having friends from all over the world. Very sweet, eh? I am sure I'm receiving many emails at my email address: frannie_usarocks_coollove@hotmail.com
I have decided to spend the remaining month of my trip with a different organization. GOSSACE (Good Spirit Action Center) is located in the town of Golomolo and works with orphaned children of HIV patients. Obviously some of these kids have befallen a similar HIV+ status and the organization was started by and mostly staffed by HIV+ people, too. I felt that working side by side with a group of people who have such personal and intimate knowledge of HIV would be beneficial to me. And hard. Very hard; but I felt myself becoming too comfortable (and a bit exploited over my whiteness) at MACRO and opted for the change. I am very excited about the challenge! I start on Monday.
This week I accompanied a friend to her village care project in the town of Buikwe. It was a worthwhile week full of a different kind of learning. Each morning was spent teaching science and math at a nearby school. This school operates without collecting school fees from the students and consequently the teachers often don't get paid - it was a fascinating dynamic to watch and spoke so highly of the teacher's commitment to education. That being said, the absolute prevalence of repetition learning and absence of original thought in their educational system is striking. Children (and teachers) are unable to deviate from the lesson plan in anyway.
The evenings have been spent doing community projects. There is a collective of people who volunteer around the community, helping one another out at home and eventually, everyone gets their own project finished. On Monday we built a plate stand; I learned to dig with a spear and then, like some African bandit, learned to chop down banana trees with a machete. My aim was not stellar but with each passing whack I improved. No one lost limbs = success.
On Tuesday we set off to build a mud hut and I was SO excited about it! However, it hadn't rained in several days which meant not only was it almost unbearably hot but also there there was no water. Of course without water there's no mud so we were out of luck for our hut. However, no water presents myriad other problems so off we went, jerry cans in hand, to fetch water so this family would be able to cook, etc. Well, fetching water turned into one of the most humbling things that I've ever done. The walking distance to the water source in the heat was numbing enough but to see where they got their water - I just stopped and gawked. There were about ten jerry cans ahead of us and each community member stood there, helping the next and making sure that everyone got their 20 liters filled. The pool of water itself was algae covered, murky and people would be forced to flip bugs out of the way prior to submerging their cans. I can only hope that water was well boiled prior to use. The community effort was so moving and beautiful; sometimes I think we in the west are only now starting to remember that sense of community and friendship.
On Wednesday we leveled the dirt floor of a mud hut. This means pouring water all over the birt and then chopping it into loose soil. After that, the loose is loaded onto potato sacks and carried away from the hut. More water is poured and banana leaves are laid all over the ground to hold in the moisture and prepare the ground to be rolled with a log. It was a painstaking process and truthfully, I didn't see much difference once we finished. :) The residents were so grateful though and cut down a behemoth papaya and stuffed us full!
I might seem a little out of it today, I haven't gotten a ton of sleep this week. I stayed with a pastor and his wife and somehow it has created a snowball rolling down my thoughts. Obviously, as many Ugandan men seem to be, the pastor was long winded and always right. In the past I would have debated with him over his antiquated takes on women, education and health. But this week I did nothing more than listen and feel the most deep sense of compassion and loss for him. Obviously he has the best intentions at heart but his lack of tolerance for others (there was a Muslim day school behind their home and he considered himself tolerant for listening to their calls to prayer each day) seemed so contradictory to what he stood for. I concluded that over the past couple of years I have sometimes felt the same way about myself. I want nothing more than to help people and to make an impact but I just have been unsure as to how to do it, feeling so underutilized where I was. The boiled into a lot of frustration and I felt very misunderstood, very often. I am working on that in myself but importantly, I gained a real sense of understanding and camaraderie for those who find themselves in that position. Everyone makes mistakes like that sometimes; I guess it all boils down to forgiveness.
I am headed to safari this weekend and am insanely excited about it! A friend and I are just about to head out to Kampala and then up to Murchison Falls tomorrow. I'm hoping for lots of hippos! Speaking of Kampala, there have been riots there over the past couple of days over students who were killed during a peaceful protest. It kind of (hopefully) topped off on Tuesday evening when a historic tomb full of Bugandan kings was set aflame. Don't worry, I'll be fine, we're on the other side of town in a compound and then leave early tomorrow morning.
Much love and deeply missing you,
FS
Sunday, March 14, 2010
oh, africa: an aside
There are many funny points and oddities that I see each day and want to share:
Ugandan’s pick their nose. A lot. The first time I saw it I just assumed it was circumstantial but, nope! It is entirely common to be having a conversation with someone who is knuckle deep in their nose. How do I fit in? Do I start shoving my fingers up there, too?
The bodaboda is such a bizarre way to transport things, but that’s the norm. It is common to see huge chairs, couches, mattresses or coffins on the backs of these mopeds. In fact, someone told me that he saw a body wrapped in sheets on the back of a bike because the family couldn’t afford a coffin. Unfortunately, the drivers are part of the extensive HIV network here as young girls will gladly trade sex for transport.
I get asked some of the most off the wall questions about America: Do you have dust; Do you know what a monkey is; Have you ever heard of the flavor vanilla; Are you a wizard? And, without fail, “Oh, you’re American, how is Obama?” Just to show where their attention lies, I’ve also been asked what city in New York City I come from.
Breasts are entirely non-sexual here. Women openly pull out a boob in any forum to allow kids to breast feed and occasionally in the villages, the women at the markets just let it all hang out. Being an American and a nosy one at that, I have a hard time not looking down when I am buying something from a woman whose left breast is on display.
Babies don’t wear diapers here so it is not uncommon to be holding a child and find a wet spot on your shirt when you go to put them down. Perfect.
Mutatus are only supposed to carry 14 passengers but the drivers really have no problem just packing us in – 18, 20 people sometimes. Occasionally, they’ll be pulled over and ticketed for the offense but usually people just look the other way. Ugandan’s are very prideful people and if a driver gets pulled over and the officer notices muzungus in the car, the berating will be in English to further shame the driver in front of us. Plus, mutatus put personalizing slogans across their windshields, usually about their favorite Premier League team or something to do with Jesus; my personal favorite that I’ve seen is “Big Wallet,” what a personal ad!
The Ugandan people are ridiculously religious and it is asinine that people from abroad come here to try and preach about Christianity; if anything, the Ugandan’s need to loosen up about their literal readings of the Bible. Yes, this is coming from me and I am the furthest thing from a Bible reader but religion is mainstream enough here that almost every person I meet asks if I’m a Christian; many people think I’m on the straight path to Hell, no doubt. But my answer to that is how “forgiving” can a group be if they want to condemn someone to eternal punishment?
The Lugandan word for “congratulations” is “swagga.” How gangsta is that? :)
The sky here is unbelievable. It’s constantly shifting and somehow captures the concept of being both sublime and beautiful at once. (Paging Edmund Burke.) Furthermore, it recently dawned on me (pun entirely intended) that I haven’t seen a single plane overhead, it’s a bit odd.
I am in love with bartering. I might only win back fifty cents but dangit, I earned it.
I have a whole new outlook on the odors of the human body. You know that smelly guy you sat next to on the train the other day? Yeah, he wasn’t that smelly – promise.
One can get their nails done at the taxi parks here. There is a big group of men who stand there just waiting for customers. The other day some friends and I caved and said they could, for $1.25, paint our toenails. I am fascinated by them now! As soon as they finish putting a color on your toes they put sparkles all over the top, I was laughing so hard! My toes are currently red with little stars on top and yes, I will absolutely do that back home, too. What pizzazz! :)
Everything here is LOUD. Music, cars, televisions, everything. But the people speak so, SO softly and have no problem hearing one another over the ruckus. Often times when they start speaking they will be looking off into the distance and speaking so softly I just assume they’re talking to themselves.
I have had several questions about food via email. My vegetarianism has been taken in stride here as no one eats much meat anyway. There’s always a starchy base to the meal; rice, matooke, poshu, cassava or potatoes are the norm. Then often there are beans, ground nut sauce, cabbage, peas or maybe, eggs. It’s all steamed for about 1,234 hours prior to being served. The only time I have felt ill was after trying to eat western food. They also eat a lot of chapatti, pineapple and jack fruit, all of which I have fallen in love with.
A personal aside:
The past couple of days have been an interesting process of shedding doubts and coming to realizations. Because being here puts one in a constant position of scrutiny and throws you way outside of your comfort zone, there is no choice but to develop a wicked sense of self assuredness. I have never felt such a strong sense of self, such comfort in my own skin and such personal strength as what I’ve come into here. I’m okay with being vulnerable and disoriented because it is forcing me to learn and grow, to become more confident. I’ve never felt before like I could do anything at any cost, all else be damned. But now? I not only think I can, I know I can. I dig that.
One more thing! Not to bring him up again but Nicholas Kristoff’s current column in the NYTimes is all about the beads that I saw being made on Tuesday! Check it out! Awfully cool!
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/14/opinion/14kristof.html?hp
Ugandan’s pick their nose. A lot. The first time I saw it I just assumed it was circumstantial but, nope! It is entirely common to be having a conversation with someone who is knuckle deep in their nose. How do I fit in? Do I start shoving my fingers up there, too?
The bodaboda is such a bizarre way to transport things, but that’s the norm. It is common to see huge chairs, couches, mattresses or coffins on the backs of these mopeds. In fact, someone told me that he saw a body wrapped in sheets on the back of a bike because the family couldn’t afford a coffin. Unfortunately, the drivers are part of the extensive HIV network here as young girls will gladly trade sex for transport.
I get asked some of the most off the wall questions about America: Do you have dust; Do you know what a monkey is; Have you ever heard of the flavor vanilla; Are you a wizard? And, without fail, “Oh, you’re American, how is Obama?” Just to show where their attention lies, I’ve also been asked what city in New York City I come from.
Breasts are entirely non-sexual here. Women openly pull out a boob in any forum to allow kids to breast feed and occasionally in the villages, the women at the markets just let it all hang out. Being an American and a nosy one at that, I have a hard time not looking down when I am buying something from a woman whose left breast is on display.
Babies don’t wear diapers here so it is not uncommon to be holding a child and find a wet spot on your shirt when you go to put them down. Perfect.
Mutatus are only supposed to carry 14 passengers but the drivers really have no problem just packing us in – 18, 20 people sometimes. Occasionally, they’ll be pulled over and ticketed for the offense but usually people just look the other way. Ugandan’s are very prideful people and if a driver gets pulled over and the officer notices muzungus in the car, the berating will be in English to further shame the driver in front of us. Plus, mutatus put personalizing slogans across their windshields, usually about their favorite Premier League team or something to do with Jesus; my personal favorite that I’ve seen is “Big Wallet,” what a personal ad!
The Ugandan people are ridiculously religious and it is asinine that people from abroad come here to try and preach about Christianity; if anything, the Ugandan’s need to loosen up about their literal readings of the Bible. Yes, this is coming from me and I am the furthest thing from a Bible reader but religion is mainstream enough here that almost every person I meet asks if I’m a Christian; many people think I’m on the straight path to Hell, no doubt. But my answer to that is how “forgiving” can a group be if they want to condemn someone to eternal punishment?
The Lugandan word for “congratulations” is “swagga.” How gangsta is that? :)
The sky here is unbelievable. It’s constantly shifting and somehow captures the concept of being both sublime and beautiful at once. (Paging Edmund Burke.) Furthermore, it recently dawned on me (pun entirely intended) that I haven’t seen a single plane overhead, it’s a bit odd.
I am in love with bartering. I might only win back fifty cents but dangit, I earned it.
I have a whole new outlook on the odors of the human body. You know that smelly guy you sat next to on the train the other day? Yeah, he wasn’t that smelly – promise.
One can get their nails done at the taxi parks here. There is a big group of men who stand there just waiting for customers. The other day some friends and I caved and said they could, for $1.25, paint our toenails. I am fascinated by them now! As soon as they finish putting a color on your toes they put sparkles all over the top, I was laughing so hard! My toes are currently red with little stars on top and yes, I will absolutely do that back home, too. What pizzazz! :)
Everything here is LOUD. Music, cars, televisions, everything. But the people speak so, SO softly and have no problem hearing one another over the ruckus. Often times when they start speaking they will be looking off into the distance and speaking so softly I just assume they’re talking to themselves.
I have had several questions about food via email. My vegetarianism has been taken in stride here as no one eats much meat anyway. There’s always a starchy base to the meal; rice, matooke, poshu, cassava or potatoes are the norm. Then often there are beans, ground nut sauce, cabbage, peas or maybe, eggs. It’s all steamed for about 1,234 hours prior to being served. The only time I have felt ill was after trying to eat western food. They also eat a lot of chapatti, pineapple and jack fruit, all of which I have fallen in love with.
A personal aside:
The past couple of days have been an interesting process of shedding doubts and coming to realizations. Because being here puts one in a constant position of scrutiny and throws you way outside of your comfort zone, there is no choice but to develop a wicked sense of self assuredness. I have never felt such a strong sense of self, such comfort in my own skin and such personal strength as what I’ve come into here. I’m okay with being vulnerable and disoriented because it is forcing me to learn and grow, to become more confident. I’ve never felt before like I could do anything at any cost, all else be damned. But now? I not only think I can, I know I can. I dig that.
One more thing! Not to bring him up again but Nicholas Kristoff’s current column in the NYTimes is all about the beads that I saw being made on Tuesday! Check it out! Awfully cool!
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/14/opinion/14kristof.html?hp
a very important march madness message
Okay, I tried for over an hour to upload a video I made last week with the kids at the orphanage school. I am heartbroken that it isn't going to work but I want you all to know that it was of them chanting "Go Green! Go White!" It is REALLY good so just keep imagining it and allow this non-substantive post (but cute little spartan-hatted girl) to serve as a place holder. Blow kisses at Tom Izzo next time you see him on TV.
Friday, March 12, 2010
go it alone
There's a chicken coop in the compound where I'm living and, just like clockwork, the rooster crows each morning. The problem with this particular rooster is that he sounds like he has laryngitis; his crow is not majestic and by the last notes, usually ends up sounding more like a hacking cough. Earplugs don't help, I've tried :)
This week has been HOT! Today is the fourth day in a row with no rain and it is starting to really swelter. As I sit on my balcony writing this, it is only 8am and the mercury in my thermometer is already uncomfortably close to 90. (Incidentally, why doesn't America just go ahead and switch to the metric system and join the rest of the world?)
I decided to do my own learning this week and ventured out on my own to a few organizations that are conducting projects that I found to be of interest.
On Tuesday I went east to a town called Lugazi to check out an organization called YOFAFO (Youth Focus Africa Foundation.) That morning I taught social science to a class of seven year olds. We learned about different types of houses and the materials that go into making said houses. I had to draw each style of house on the chalkboard and we'll just say that I'm no Frank Lloyd Wright. I really enjoy hanging out with those little guys though, they're so grateful and welcoming! Plus, they sing and dance for visitors. Everyone told me that the kids here would steal the show with their cuteness and don't get me wrong, they're precious but the real cake takers are the women. African women are the most strong and stoic humans on the planet. They're like the real life version of all the ridiculous reality survival shows. They run this country for not a dollar or a word of thanks. Plus, they do it all with a baby strapped to their back, firewood on their head and jerry cans in each hand. They're magnificent and the more I see of their grace the more certain I am that empowering them is the key to progressing this land.
On Tuesday afternoon I went to a YOFAFO women's group that makes beads and jewelry to sell. It was a great time, sitting under the afternoon sun with these women, laughing and trying to make beads. All of their beads start off as long strips of paper that are rolled, glued and glazed into colorful nuggets. It was really quite intricate work and every bead I made was politely put aside into the discard pile. :)
On Wednesday I went back to YOFAFO to work with their micro finance project. Each Wednesday the "bank" sets up two tables under a grove of orange trees on a big sloping hill. It's idyllic. Although this is just a pilot project, they're currently lending to 70 people. A typical starter loan is 100,000sh ($50) at an interest rate of 1%/week. As the customers pay off these loans and seek new ones, each subsequent loan can increase by 50,000sh. The way that basic accounting was changing the community was amazing! As I walked around to look at the various projects that these loans have spawned, I was again and again taken aback by the determination and grit of the Ugandan people. The loaned money went towards everything from school fees and popcorn machines to cattle and homemade beer enterprises.
Also of note, on my mutatu ride back to Mukono I was thrown up on by a woman who was ill. Yes, it was disgusting and a huge part of me wanted to be horrified but this poor girl had two babies and three chickens in tow and I felt nothing less than terrible for her. And yes, chickens are a regular feature on mutatu rides. I always laugh at the idea of getting on a city bus and finding chickens pecking about.
Yesterday I accompanied two fellow volunteers to the school where they've been working. This particular school is of note because it willingly takes in children with disabilities. Typically, Ugandan children born with a mental or a physical handicap are viewed as throw away children. However, this school is run by people who are disabled themselves and obviously saw the necessity of educating all kids. The morning was spent reading and drawing with three year olds; these kids are taught in English from the moment they enter school and since so little is done to reinforce their language skills, the kids consequently tend to go through the first couple years of school understanding little. The woefully sub par teaching became more evident during lunch (Ever eat rice and beans with your hands? Not so clean!) when I had to correct a teacher who had been going over geography. No, New York City is not the capital of America, nor is Sudan the biggest country in the world.
All afternoon we played soccer with the kids, it was a riot! It was also like playing atop a small mountain range - so bumpy!
One of my friends who is working at the school has decided to sponsor a little girl there named Sharon. Sharon's school fees will be payed for the next two years, which is about $20 per trimester. After school let out yesterday we went to the Sharon's home to deliver the good news to her parents. It turns out Sharon's mother no longer lives with her and her father was off at the bar. However, one of the father's other wives was there so we attempted to convey the message to her. In an open and shut case of the problem with polygamy, the woman refused to talk to us because Sharon wasn't her daughter and she was too busy wiping down dried fish. It was heartbreaking to watch her sit, ten feet away, and refuse to acknowledge us. Since the family is already not paying Sharon's school fees, it's very feasible that this woman's silence cost Sharon her education. Her expression will haunt me for ages to come.
This week was a lot of highs and lows. It was stunning to see the determination of the women through YOFAFO; while the sadness and unfortunately, the prevalence, of a case like Sharon's is chilling. Personally, I've been missing my companions at home very much this week. There's a clear difference between being alone and being lonely;I relish my time alone here but find that when I'm in groups of Ugandans who are all chattering in Lugandan, it is a time of great loneliness. Something to think about. I have five more weeks in this country; I plan on curing and eradicating HIV/AIDS next week so I guess that leaves the remaining four to figure out the human condition of loneliness. I'll let you know what I discover :)
Cheerio!
Love,
Effie
If any of you are interested in reading more about women in the world's developing countries might I suggest Half the Sky by Nicholas Kristoff and Sheryl WuDunn. It can be a little hooky at moments but on the whole is very user friendly and relevant.
This week has been HOT! Today is the fourth day in a row with no rain and it is starting to really swelter. As I sit on my balcony writing this, it is only 8am and the mercury in my thermometer is already uncomfortably close to 90. (Incidentally, why doesn't America just go ahead and switch to the metric system and join the rest of the world?)
I decided to do my own learning this week and ventured out on my own to a few organizations that are conducting projects that I found to be of interest.
On Tuesday I went east to a town called Lugazi to check out an organization called YOFAFO (Youth Focus Africa Foundation.) That morning I taught social science to a class of seven year olds. We learned about different types of houses and the materials that go into making said houses. I had to draw each style of house on the chalkboard and we'll just say that I'm no Frank Lloyd Wright. I really enjoy hanging out with those little guys though, they're so grateful and welcoming! Plus, they sing and dance for visitors. Everyone told me that the kids here would steal the show with their cuteness and don't get me wrong, they're precious but the real cake takers are the women. African women are the most strong and stoic humans on the planet. They're like the real life version of all the ridiculous reality survival shows. They run this country for not a dollar or a word of thanks. Plus, they do it all with a baby strapped to their back, firewood on their head and jerry cans in each hand. They're magnificent and the more I see of their grace the more certain I am that empowering them is the key to progressing this land.
On Tuesday afternoon I went to a YOFAFO women's group that makes beads and jewelry to sell. It was a great time, sitting under the afternoon sun with these women, laughing and trying to make beads. All of their beads start off as long strips of paper that are rolled, glued and glazed into colorful nuggets. It was really quite intricate work and every bead I made was politely put aside into the discard pile. :)
On Wednesday I went back to YOFAFO to work with their micro finance project. Each Wednesday the "bank" sets up two tables under a grove of orange trees on a big sloping hill. It's idyllic. Although this is just a pilot project, they're currently lending to 70 people. A typical starter loan is 100,000sh ($50) at an interest rate of 1%/week. As the customers pay off these loans and seek new ones, each subsequent loan can increase by 50,000sh. The way that basic accounting was changing the community was amazing! As I walked around to look at the various projects that these loans have spawned, I was again and again taken aback by the determination and grit of the Ugandan people. The loaned money went towards everything from school fees and popcorn machines to cattle and homemade beer enterprises.
Also of note, on my mutatu ride back to Mukono I was thrown up on by a woman who was ill. Yes, it was disgusting and a huge part of me wanted to be horrified but this poor girl had two babies and three chickens in tow and I felt nothing less than terrible for her. And yes, chickens are a regular feature on mutatu rides. I always laugh at the idea of getting on a city bus and finding chickens pecking about.
Yesterday I accompanied two fellow volunteers to the school where they've been working. This particular school is of note because it willingly takes in children with disabilities. Typically, Ugandan children born with a mental or a physical handicap are viewed as throw away children. However, this school is run by people who are disabled themselves and obviously saw the necessity of educating all kids. The morning was spent reading and drawing with three year olds; these kids are taught in English from the moment they enter school and since so little is done to reinforce their language skills, the kids consequently tend to go through the first couple years of school understanding little. The woefully sub par teaching became more evident during lunch (Ever eat rice and beans with your hands? Not so clean!) when I had to correct a teacher who had been going over geography. No, New York City is not the capital of America, nor is Sudan the biggest country in the world.
All afternoon we played soccer with the kids, it was a riot! It was also like playing atop a small mountain range - so bumpy!
One of my friends who is working at the school has decided to sponsor a little girl there named Sharon. Sharon's school fees will be payed for the next two years, which is about $20 per trimester. After school let out yesterday we went to the Sharon's home to deliver the good news to her parents. It turns out Sharon's mother no longer lives with her and her father was off at the bar. However, one of the father's other wives was there so we attempted to convey the message to her. In an open and shut case of the problem with polygamy, the woman refused to talk to us because Sharon wasn't her daughter and she was too busy wiping down dried fish. It was heartbreaking to watch her sit, ten feet away, and refuse to acknowledge us. Since the family is already not paying Sharon's school fees, it's very feasible that this woman's silence cost Sharon her education. Her expression will haunt me for ages to come.
This week was a lot of highs and lows. It was stunning to see the determination of the women through YOFAFO; while the sadness and unfortunately, the prevalence, of a case like Sharon's is chilling. Personally, I've been missing my companions at home very much this week. There's a clear difference between being alone and being lonely;I relish my time alone here but find that when I'm in groups of Ugandans who are all chattering in Lugandan, it is a time of great loneliness. Something to think about. I have five more weeks in this country; I plan on curing and eradicating HIV/AIDS next week so I guess that leaves the remaining four to figure out the human condition of loneliness. I'll let you know what I discover :)
Cheerio!
Love,
Effie
If any of you are interested in reading more about women in the world's developing countries might I suggest Half the Sky by Nicholas Kristoff and Sheryl WuDunn. It can be a little hooky at moments but on the whole is very user friendly and relevant.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
uganda in pictures v 2.0
This is one of the crater lakes that exist due to Mt. Rwenzori in western Uganda.
Me and meat. A pig carcass and a machete at the Hakuna Matata New Pork Joint. The handle was slimy.
This is the Nile at sunset. It's no Lake Michigan but a pretty cool body of water, none the less ;)
This group of kids followed me for no less than 45 minutes. As you can see by the jerry can, their first mission behind being out was to get water but a camera and a muzungu proved far more interesting. The little guy in the bottom right? Crying because he's scared of me, that's right - I'm very scary. (Insert obvious joke!)
Two venerable women near the orphanage school. I find it so funny that all Ugandans pose for pictures alike - as though they're taking a mug shot! I wonder how they picked up that trend?
Two men from the landing site village on Lake Victoria.
Ah, yes - the chimps!! The one getting worked on was called Flop as he had an awkward floppy ear, he was the second in command chimp in all of Kibale Nat'l Park. His buddy was named Taboo; quite the pose they have going, eh? Unfortunately we couldn't get up right next to them so the picture is a bit blurry.
Men at the landing site coming in from a day of fishing. They most frequently catch tilapia and silver fish, or so I'm told.
A view of the inlet from Lake Victoria, the sky is starting to hint towards the massive storm that was soon to hit!
another thought or two
The life that you're born into and create for yourself is but one version of reality - yours. There are billions of others out there and all deserve a chance, all want to be loved.
Outsiders are skeptical and weary of Africa and I smile now as I think of the umpteen well-intentioned warnings I received before embarking on this journey; warnings that extended far beyond the requisite "be safe." Are there dangers here? Of course! But the only difference between the perils here and those in the States are that these are entirely unknown to us. As Americans we deal with the threat of car accidents, office shootings, rape, murder, kidnap and terrorism on a daily basis but in order to live our lives we've reconciled ourselves with these evils. There are a litany of problems here too, some the same and some very different but for some reason they ALL seem much scarier and more certain to happen because of our mindset about Africa.
Wipe away everything you've been told about this continent. Drop the "We Need to Save Africa" ideal. Do they need help? Yes! But the only thing we really need to save is ourselves, stop ourselves from once again just throwing money at something, walking away and thinking that our way is THE way. It seems we're always ready to supply the "right" answer but what about the real answer? They money that we DO give is never questioned, never second guessed; it's really given so people can feel better about living the lives they lead. In fact, it almost becomes an immoral vs. moral issue and everyone wants to give money to feel good. Of course it's a great thing to contribute but I'm saying that we need to question WHY and WHERE that "help" is going because right now it seems your hard earned dollars aren't going to fix schools or buy supplies but to line the pockets of twisted figures of African authority who are completely mired in the red tape of corruption.
The rest of Africa, the ones who aren't receiving the funds allocated for them, are a people who I find to be gregarious, generous and warm; it's a place that's vibrant with color, texture and untapped resource - much of it begging to be released. At times it is unspeakably beautiful and I struggle each day to figure out how to convey it to you on the other side of the Atlantic.
We need to help each other understand one another, to meet in the middle to teach and learn because the only way this place is going to flourish is through being taught, not being told.
I didn't really intend to write all of this today. I'm certainly not trying to preach or sound unbearably self-righteous and I'm sure there are some skeptics 0ut there who are scoffing at the huge obstacle this idea presents but as someone recently told me, "Take the most difficult path, just do it at your own pace." We'll get there.
Outsiders are skeptical and weary of Africa and I smile now as I think of the umpteen well-intentioned warnings I received before embarking on this journey; warnings that extended far beyond the requisite "be safe." Are there dangers here? Of course! But the only difference between the perils here and those in the States are that these are entirely unknown to us. As Americans we deal with the threat of car accidents, office shootings, rape, murder, kidnap and terrorism on a daily basis but in order to live our lives we've reconciled ourselves with these evils. There are a litany of problems here too, some the same and some very different but for some reason they ALL seem much scarier and more certain to happen because of our mindset about Africa.
Wipe away everything you've been told about this continent. Drop the "We Need to Save Africa" ideal. Do they need help? Yes! But the only thing we really need to save is ourselves, stop ourselves from once again just throwing money at something, walking away and thinking that our way is THE way. It seems we're always ready to supply the "right" answer but what about the real answer? They money that we DO give is never questioned, never second guessed; it's really given so people can feel better about living the lives they lead. In fact, it almost becomes an immoral vs. moral issue and everyone wants to give money to feel good. Of course it's a great thing to contribute but I'm saying that we need to question WHY and WHERE that "help" is going because right now it seems your hard earned dollars aren't going to fix schools or buy supplies but to line the pockets of twisted figures of African authority who are completely mired in the red tape of corruption.
The rest of Africa, the ones who aren't receiving the funds allocated for them, are a people who I find to be gregarious, generous and warm; it's a place that's vibrant with color, texture and untapped resource - much of it begging to be released. At times it is unspeakably beautiful and I struggle each day to figure out how to convey it to you on the other side of the Atlantic.
We need to help each other understand one another, to meet in the middle to teach and learn because the only way this place is going to flourish is through being taught, not being told.
I didn't really intend to write all of this today. I'm certainly not trying to preach or sound unbearably self-righteous and I'm sure there are some skeptics 0ut there who are scoffing at the huge obstacle this idea presents but as someone recently told me, "Take the most difficult path, just do it at your own pace." We'll get there.
on the banks of the...nile
Greetings, friends!
I tend to hand write my blog entries prior to reaching a computer as it helps me save valuable time once I'm online. Right now I'm sitting on the Nile and drinking mango juice. It is beautiful, peaceful and a gigantic departure from my week.
I spent the week at an orphanage school in a village called Kasowo; there are about 200 kids at the school, 30% of them are HIV+ themselves and virtually all of them were orphaned my the virus. Most of the time I spent with the kids at the school we were playing, joking and singing. And, after several rounds of tag, the tackle version of duck duck goose (let's ALL pick the muzungu!) and many renditions of the Baby Shark song the kids finally felt comfortable enough to come and try to speak to me in English. They are taught in English while at school and many of them are able to speak it quite decently but are far too self conscious and shy to try to speak the language to a muzungu. However, when I respond to their statements and queries and understand what they're trying to say to me, their pride is palpable and it's a gigantic confidence boost for them. I learned the quickest way to boggle the kid's minds is to apply sunscreen in front of them (although my constant applications of spf70 is a joke even to my fellow volunteers. I am sorry but the sun is a danger, people!:)) Or, better yet, show them the skin on your stomach; watching them try to grasp that ALL of your skin is white, not just your head, arms and legs is pretty darn funny. At that point they finally stop trying to rub the white off you. Seriously.
The school is run by MACRO and if there isn't a guardian in place when an orphan needs to be placed in a class, MACRO assists in finding a guardian to care for the child. On Wednesday there was a burial held for one of the guardians who passed away after a long battle with AIDS. I was invited to attend and although the heavy attention I knew I would receive at the service made me hesitant to go, I did ultimately end up attending. Ugandans mourn very publicly and women who were close to the deceased wail; it is a heart wrenching noise. As we walked the two miles into the jungle to the plot, the casket was attached to the back of a bodaboda, the women continued to wail as the men collected oranges, jackfruit and pineapples along the way. When we arrived at the burial site (which was not even a clearing, just a place amongst the palms) I sat on a palm leaf in the back, facing the burial plot. The entire P4 class, which consists of kids who are about ten, sat in a circle around me, all facing me instead of the burial. So that's how the burial went for me, watching the wailing women and having thirty kids watching me intently and gradually inching closer, occasionally flicking grasshoppers off of my back. By the end they were so close I could practically feel their breath and felt like some weird Godfather/Pied Piper hybrid. Those two characters probably aren't paired too often, eh?
The real work came on Thursday when Travis and I walked around to several surrounding villages to talk to people about sending their orphans to the school. Orphans tend to get taken in by indifferent survivors and became "lost" children. They're often left unattended, uncared for and are seen as a second class offspring hence never sent to school.
The day started off with visiting the Kabaka's representative in the village to discuss funding, etc. The Kabaka is the King of the Bugandan Kingdom, an area that occupies much of south central Uganda. This man had actually spent some time in America in the early 80's and wanted nothing more than to talk to me about his stay in Jacksonville. Unfortunately, the only English words he seemed to know were Jacksonville, LaGuardia Airport and Florida.
From there the day progressed to me having liquor spilled down my legs at 10am by a drunken father while we were talking to his wife. Then, being offered/having to take a sip of a homemade millet and maize alcohol drink that made my eyes water instantly. Clearly this was hilarious to those watching but it was, hands down, the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted. :)
It tasted like evil.
The rest of the homes we went to didn't have alcohol but many had children and babies who were clearly HIV+ and not on ARV's. (More about ARV's and HIV later.) Seeing people in situations that we in America rarely do more than read about is a constant gut check about mortality and the arbitrary nature of birth and life. One is forced to accept it immediately as "what is." Reality is a cruel beast.
As the day progressed I was the one who began to address the residents about the benefits and attributes of the orphan school and Travis would interpret my words. Being able to interact, communicate with and, hopefully, inform these people was so gratifying and a huge confidence boost for me. That night, after 11 hours of home visits we went to the local radio station, which is really more of a loud speaker broadcast, and Travis gave a plug for the school. He also had me speak in English about the school because apparently hearing muzungu English makes Ugandans happy. Either way, I got a huge kick out of it. There were geckos climbing all over the walls of the "studio."
This weekend some of the other volunteers and I went to Jinja and spent some time at a fantastic hostel that overlooks the Nile; talk about one remarkable river. Jinja is actually the source of the Nile and to me, that concept is awe striking - what power, history and influence that river has. Yesterday we went for a horseback ride along the river and as I was the only one with riding experience I was given this huge gelding named Tangueray. I promptly renamed him Tapioca for my purposes, it just seemed like a sweeter name and at almost 19 hands, I needed some reassurance. (Yes, Mom, I had a very sturdy helmet!) The ride was very fun though and one of the guides brought me aside to go do some cantering, etc along the river banks; I was covered in mud by the end but it was so beautiful out there and great to ride again.
As the mud might imply, it rained pretty heavily on Saturday morning hence not only the horses but also the bodas were having some trouble with the mud. On the way to the stable my driver fishtailed us off the road, I was NOT happy about it so I walked the last kilometer. Then, on the way back a different driver took me to the wrong place. He clearly spoke no English but had given me the usual boda assurance he knew where I needed to go. He didn't. So once we arrived at the random spot in Jinja I grabbed another bike to get where I needed to go. Guy #1 followed us to my real destination and he and I began arguing over why I shouldn't pay him as he didn't provide the needed services. The police intervened (the police are everywhere) and the officer, miraculously, sided with me. It was a small victory but a desperately needed one as I was very frustrated with the transportation.
Although I'm hard pressed to respond, I appreciate the comments and emails that I've received SO much, they really mean the world to me. Being here is really, really hard and I am constantly trying to process what I'm seeing and learning; hearing your kind words is such a boost. You're on my mind and with me everywhere I go.
"We may be a thousand miles apart but a brother and a sister share a single heart." :)
Much love,
FES
I tend to hand write my blog entries prior to reaching a computer as it helps me save valuable time once I'm online. Right now I'm sitting on the Nile and drinking mango juice. It is beautiful, peaceful and a gigantic departure from my week.
I spent the week at an orphanage school in a village called Kasowo; there are about 200 kids at the school, 30% of them are HIV+ themselves and virtually all of them were orphaned my the virus. Most of the time I spent with the kids at the school we were playing, joking and singing. And, after several rounds of tag, the tackle version of duck duck goose (let's ALL pick the muzungu!) and many renditions of the Baby Shark song the kids finally felt comfortable enough to come and try to speak to me in English. They are taught in English while at school and many of them are able to speak it quite decently but are far too self conscious and shy to try to speak the language to a muzungu. However, when I respond to their statements and queries and understand what they're trying to say to me, their pride is palpable and it's a gigantic confidence boost for them. I learned the quickest way to boggle the kid's minds is to apply sunscreen in front of them (although my constant applications of spf70 is a joke even to my fellow volunteers. I am sorry but the sun is a danger, people!:)) Or, better yet, show them the skin on your stomach; watching them try to grasp that ALL of your skin is white, not just your head, arms and legs is pretty darn funny. At that point they finally stop trying to rub the white off you. Seriously.
The school is run by MACRO and if there isn't a guardian in place when an orphan needs to be placed in a class, MACRO assists in finding a guardian to care for the child. On Wednesday there was a burial held for one of the guardians who passed away after a long battle with AIDS. I was invited to attend and although the heavy attention I knew I would receive at the service made me hesitant to go, I did ultimately end up attending. Ugandans mourn very publicly and women who were close to the deceased wail; it is a heart wrenching noise. As we walked the two miles into the jungle to the plot, the casket was attached to the back of a bodaboda, the women continued to wail as the men collected oranges, jackfruit and pineapples along the way. When we arrived at the burial site (which was not even a clearing, just a place amongst the palms) I sat on a palm leaf in the back, facing the burial plot. The entire P4 class, which consists of kids who are about ten, sat in a circle around me, all facing me instead of the burial. So that's how the burial went for me, watching the wailing women and having thirty kids watching me intently and gradually inching closer, occasionally flicking grasshoppers off of my back. By the end they were so close I could practically feel their breath and felt like some weird Godfather/Pied Piper hybrid. Those two characters probably aren't paired too often, eh?
The real work came on Thursday when Travis and I walked around to several surrounding villages to talk to people about sending their orphans to the school. Orphans tend to get taken in by indifferent survivors and became "lost" children. They're often left unattended, uncared for and are seen as a second class offspring hence never sent to school.
The day started off with visiting the Kabaka's representative in the village to discuss funding, etc. The Kabaka is the King of the Bugandan Kingdom, an area that occupies much of south central Uganda. This man had actually spent some time in America in the early 80's and wanted nothing more than to talk to me about his stay in Jacksonville. Unfortunately, the only English words he seemed to know were Jacksonville, LaGuardia Airport and Florida.
From there the day progressed to me having liquor spilled down my legs at 10am by a drunken father while we were talking to his wife. Then, being offered/having to take a sip of a homemade millet and maize alcohol drink that made my eyes water instantly. Clearly this was hilarious to those watching but it was, hands down, the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted. :)
It tasted like evil.
The rest of the homes we went to didn't have alcohol but many had children and babies who were clearly HIV+ and not on ARV's. (More about ARV's and HIV later.) Seeing people in situations that we in America rarely do more than read about is a constant gut check about mortality and the arbitrary nature of birth and life. One is forced to accept it immediately as "what is." Reality is a cruel beast.
As the day progressed I was the one who began to address the residents about the benefits and attributes of the orphan school and Travis would interpret my words. Being able to interact, communicate with and, hopefully, inform these people was so gratifying and a huge confidence boost for me. That night, after 11 hours of home visits we went to the local radio station, which is really more of a loud speaker broadcast, and Travis gave a plug for the school. He also had me speak in English about the school because apparently hearing muzungu English makes Ugandans happy. Either way, I got a huge kick out of it. There were geckos climbing all over the walls of the "studio."
This weekend some of the other volunteers and I went to Jinja and spent some time at a fantastic hostel that overlooks the Nile; talk about one remarkable river. Jinja is actually the source of the Nile and to me, that concept is awe striking - what power, history and influence that river has. Yesterday we went for a horseback ride along the river and as I was the only one with riding experience I was given this huge gelding named Tangueray. I promptly renamed him Tapioca for my purposes, it just seemed like a sweeter name and at almost 19 hands, I needed some reassurance. (Yes, Mom, I had a very sturdy helmet!) The ride was very fun though and one of the guides brought me aside to go do some cantering, etc along the river banks; I was covered in mud by the end but it was so beautiful out there and great to ride again.
As the mud might imply, it rained pretty heavily on Saturday morning hence not only the horses but also the bodas were having some trouble with the mud. On the way to the stable my driver fishtailed us off the road, I was NOT happy about it so I walked the last kilometer. Then, on the way back a different driver took me to the wrong place. He clearly spoke no English but had given me the usual boda assurance he knew where I needed to go. He didn't. So once we arrived at the random spot in Jinja I grabbed another bike to get where I needed to go. Guy #1 followed us to my real destination and he and I began arguing over why I shouldn't pay him as he didn't provide the needed services. The police intervened (the police are everywhere) and the officer, miraculously, sided with me. It was a small victory but a desperately needed one as I was very frustrated with the transportation.
Although I'm hard pressed to respond, I appreciate the comments and emails that I've received SO much, they really mean the world to me. Being here is really, really hard and I am constantly trying to process what I'm seeing and learning; hearing your kind words is such a boost. You're on my mind and with me everywhere I go.
"We may be a thousand miles apart but a brother and a sister share a single heart." :)
Much love,
FES
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