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