We saw the mountain gorillas!!!!! This day was absolutely phenomenal. OK let me back track a bit:
We finished painting the clinic just in time on Monday evening because we were heading to the other side of Uganda the next morning and then to Rwanda. The clinic looked surprisingly beautiful when we were through. Colby painted a gorgeous portrait of Sister Rose on one wall. I painted a large, funny sun wearing sunglasses on the opposite side of the room and we decorated the rest of the walls with encouraging quotes and some birdies here and there. While we were working, children kept flooding into the room to see the pictures they had been hearing about throughout the school. They would walk in, do a 360 around the room and say “wow. Well done, Aunt”. Eventually the mobs of children that were hanging out with us in the tiny, freshly painted room got too overwhelming towards the end and we kicked everyone out. I know, we’re party poopers, but some of the kids were accidently touching the wet paint or picking up brushes and “helping” us paint. We finished and the children gladly helped us clean up the huge mess we made! Debra brought all the teachers down from the school to show off the clinic. The kids were saying things like “Oh I am sleeping in here this night”. Everyone here is so encouraging and appreciative. That something I hope to take back with me to my life at home.
The clinic was not meant to take us four days to finish, but then again we are on Uganda time. Delays came at every opportunity. We continued to run out of paraphine, the gas needed to liquefy the paint here. Then we couldn’t find any tape to divide the top color from the bottom and we had to run to the school and barrow from them. THEN we needed light and the electricity wasn’t working. THEN we ran out of paint and had to travel two hours to Masaka to get more. The list goes on. The glory of Uganda time is that no one expects you to get a certain amount of work done by a certain deadline. You do what you can, when you can, and that’s enough.
Monday night was The Last Supper. Sharon, a friend of mine from another part of town, came to Sabina to spend the night with us before we departed. Colby, Sharon, and I attempted to make pizzas for the pizza-deprived staff. The cheese was questionable, the bread was rock solid, and we had to cook them in a pot over an open flame, but everyone seemed to like them (or at least pretended to). Along with the pizzas, Auntie Anna made our favorite dishes: Cassava chips, Matoke, omelets with chipote, rice, beans, and JACKFRUIT. We all sat around and feasted in the company of those we love and will miss dearly.
Later on that night Jannet and Vivian met Colby and I by our room. They danced and sang goodbye songs for us at our own private farewell performance. Vivian and Colby had grown attached during her stay, as did Jannet and I. By the end of the last song, all four of us were in tears. Janet couldn’t look me in the eye. She handed me a letter that read:
Dear Aunt Madline
How are you now days.
Are you okey on my side I am oke.
I love so much_____________________
I will miss you whe you leave us.
I thank you for being kind to me.
I thank you for your love you have shown me.
I thank you for bringing your friend Cobe to see is at Sabina.
I thank you for your painting.
I am so, so, so, sad for your leaving!!!
I thank all you have done for us at Sabina.
My best colour is pupple.
My best subject is maths.
I wish you a safe journey
From,
Jannet Kirabi
I love you
The letter was decorated with a picture of a cow (my favorite), Teddy (my dog), hearts, and flowers. A heartbreaking/heart-filling letter.
Each goodbye was harder than the last. I will miss dearly Kaleem, Rona, Jannet, Isa, Meg, Sharon, Precious, Hilda, the list goes on.
The next morning Colby and I took our things out to the car where Daniel was waiting for us and hit the road. As we flooded the car with tears, Daniel attempted to distract us from our sorrows with questions like “So, do you have villages like these in America”?
We arrived at Kisoro nine hours later, where the gorillas roam the surrounding rainforests. Colby and I checked into the motel on the tippy top of an enormous, bumpy roaded (I know that’s not a word) mountain. We are the only guests at the Wagtail Lodge for two nights. Last night I couldn’t sleep because I had seen The Shining too many times and was convinced that there were people outside our window, plotting their attack on the two helpless muzungus sleeping alone on this empty mountaintop.
This morning we headed out at 6 AM to go gorilla trekking. There are currently only 712 mountain gorillas left in the entire world and they all reside in the forests of Uganda, Rwanda, and Congo. We set off with a gunman, a guide, and two obnoxious Canadian tourists who insisted that we follow their suit and hire porters for the hike. Colby and I shat on that idea and managed to carry our own things up, down, and around the mountain. We followed the path of abandoned nests and bent trees the gorillas had left behind all across the forest. Our badass guide was a man in his sixties who had been trekking gorillas for over twenty years. He seemed to have more love for that species than he did for mankind. As we hiked up hills of rocks, through tangles of vines, and over armies of ants, Benjamin the badass cut through the branches and trees with a machete until we found the infamous Mishiya family of mountain gorillas. There, we perched ourselves under the trees in which they ate, and watched silently. Mishiya is the silverback gorilla that takes the roll of leader in his pack. He sat in a nest eating and farting directly above my head while I watched in amazement, humbled by his gas. The rest of the pack consisted of two juveniles, two mothers, and a baby. They had all been habituated by the frequent visitors that come to admire them and were not startled in the least bit by our presence. After an hour of stalking these remarkable creatures, each came down their tree one by one and set off to find another feeding place. When they reached the ground, they were only a few feet away from the very place I sat. I cannot find the words to explain the way it made me feel to spend time with these ancient ancestors of mine. The way they move, the relationships they share, the choices they make, are more similar to our own than you could every imagine.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Battle of Muzungus
I am sitting in the clinic, sharing a grapefruit with a few of my favorite children. We have been painting for hours, and the room is looking great! Colby is currently painting a portrait of Sister Rose (the original founder of COU) on the clinic wall. I brought a grapefruit and some nuts from home that I have just broken out! The children have never seen these types of nuts or a grapefruit, let alone tried them. I have so far introduced them to cashews, hazelnuts, almonds, and pistachios. Every nut I give them, their response is always “mmm, it is sweet”. Cashews have gotten the best response so far.
Yesterday was exciting/frustrating/wonderful! I woke up to the sound of tapping at my door and a voice behind it saying “Auntie Maderine. Auntie. Auntie. Auntie Maderine” tap tap tap, “Maderine. Maderine. Auntie Maderine” tap tap tap, “Auntie. Auntie. Auntie. Auntie Maderine. Corby. Auntie Corby” tap tap tap, “Auntie Maderine. Auntie Corby”. This went on for about twenty minutes until we were finally annoyed out of our peaceful sleep and forced to open the abused door. We found little Vivian standing there, asking if we were going to run this morning. We politely dismissed her idea and got our lazy butts into bed until the rooster’s call rang through our ears at 7 AM.
We continued our painting the clinic after breakfast until the paint ran out and we were forced to take a trip to Masaka, an hour down the road to buy more. We got to Masaka via taxi. When I say taxi, I mean a small car packed with 15+ strangers. Don’t ask me how it’s possible because I still can’t figure it out. There is no such thing as personal space in Uganda. I sat with one butt-cheek on Colby, and the other on the nice Tanzanian man sitting next to me.
When we arrived to Masaka, we were just a couple of disoriented Muzungus lost in an unfamiliar African town. We began to walk around aimlessly, looking for paint, when a man shouted out “hey, Muzungu”. I responded “Tom pita Muzungu” (don’t call me Muzungu) and his face lit up. He ran over to us to apologize and thank us for learning the language. Somewhere during the conversation, he reached over and brushed my arm, then bashfully confessed that that was only his second time touching a muzungu. Hah! It’s not as creepy as it sounds, he was a nice guy, just a little too forward. He took down my email and said that we would meet again in America. People in Uganda are very serious about maintaining friendships. I have given my email to store clerks, boda boda drivers, street venders, and random people I meet on the street. And I look forward to receiving and replying to these random emails over the next year!
We eventually found paint with a little help of a friendly stranger. We had walked into his shop and asked if he sold paints. When he replied with a no, we asked if he knew where we could buy some. He walked us half a mile down the road to a hardware store where we found our paint jackpot. He then stayed with us in the shop and helped us negotiate prices (somewhat unsuccessfully) because the store owner didn’t speak English. Of course, after all was said and done, he took down our email addresses.
On the way back, we took a van to Kyotera, a town twenty minutes away from ours, packed with twenty-nine people counted. That’s TWENTY-NINE PEOPLE. I sat on top of a jaja (old woman) along with another young woman. This type of transportation is a sure way to get to know someone!
When we arrived to Kyotera, we bought a few more things needed at the school and then went to the gas station to buy sodas. We plopped ourselves on the gas station stoop to enjoy our sugary carbonation. In Uganda, all sodas are sold in glass bottles that must be returned to the store owner. If you buy a soda, you either drink it there or bring them an empty glass bottle in exchange. All empties are reused until they break. Now if only the rest of the world did such a great job at recycling…
While sitting on the gas station stoop, I spotted something strange in the near distance. Two muzungus walking towards the gas station! It was as if the whole world went silent and all I could see were these two unfamiliar muzungus, walkin’ on our African turf. I have spent so much time correcting the local children when they shouted “Muzungu!” at me, but when I saw these two classy ladies walking towards us, I immediately tapped Colby on the shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Look! Muzungus!” They walked into the gas station and from the looks on their faces, they were just as surprised to see us as we were to see them. All four of us casually said hello to one another and then they continued on into the gas station. The battle of the Muzungus. Colby and I win because one of us has red hair.
After our time in Uganda, we headed back to the school via boda boda. Colby and I hopped on and hung on to the driver’s back for dear life. We consistently reminded him throughout the trip “mpola mpola” (slowly slowly) and “wegendereze!” (be careful!). I like to tell myself that these two phrases assure my safety during a bumpy boda boda ride. There are no speed signs on the roads of Rakai. I figure they don’t have enough policemen to enforce speed limits so they just didn’t bother putting up any signs. Instead, they have these massive speed bumps every few kilomiters that you need to go over at snail speed. For some reason, this method seems to be working for the roads of Rakai.
When we got back to Sabina, we had dinner then headed straight for the Clinic. We finished our second coats of paint and retreated to our banda at around 11:30 PM. The next day (the present), we headed back to the clinic to do our finishing touches of the base coat and start painting pictures on the walls.
That’s my recap! We leave in two days for Rwanda and there is still much to do!
Welaba
Yesterday was exciting/frustrating/wonderful! I woke up to the sound of tapping at my door and a voice behind it saying “Auntie Maderine. Auntie. Auntie. Auntie Maderine” tap tap tap, “Maderine. Maderine. Auntie Maderine” tap tap tap, “Auntie. Auntie. Auntie. Auntie Maderine. Corby. Auntie Corby” tap tap tap, “Auntie Maderine. Auntie Corby”. This went on for about twenty minutes until we were finally annoyed out of our peaceful sleep and forced to open the abused door. We found little Vivian standing there, asking if we were going to run this morning. We politely dismissed her idea and got our lazy butts into bed until the rooster’s call rang through our ears at 7 AM.
We continued our painting the clinic after breakfast until the paint ran out and we were forced to take a trip to Masaka, an hour down the road to buy more. We got to Masaka via taxi. When I say taxi, I mean a small car packed with 15+ strangers. Don’t ask me how it’s possible because I still can’t figure it out. There is no such thing as personal space in Uganda. I sat with one butt-cheek on Colby, and the other on the nice Tanzanian man sitting next to me.
When we arrived to Masaka, we were just a couple of disoriented Muzungus lost in an unfamiliar African town. We began to walk around aimlessly, looking for paint, when a man shouted out “hey, Muzungu”. I responded “Tom pita Muzungu” (don’t call me Muzungu) and his face lit up. He ran over to us to apologize and thank us for learning the language. Somewhere during the conversation, he reached over and brushed my arm, then bashfully confessed that that was only his second time touching a muzungu. Hah! It’s not as creepy as it sounds, he was a nice guy, just a little too forward. He took down my email and said that we would meet again in America. People in Uganda are very serious about maintaining friendships. I have given my email to store clerks, boda boda drivers, street venders, and random people I meet on the street. And I look forward to receiving and replying to these random emails over the next year!
We eventually found paint with a little help of a friendly stranger. We had walked into his shop and asked if he sold paints. When he replied with a no, we asked if he knew where we could buy some. He walked us half a mile down the road to a hardware store where we found our paint jackpot. He then stayed with us in the shop and helped us negotiate prices (somewhat unsuccessfully) because the store owner didn’t speak English. Of course, after all was said and done, he took down our email addresses.
On the way back, we took a van to Kyotera, a town twenty minutes away from ours, packed with twenty-nine people counted. That’s TWENTY-NINE PEOPLE. I sat on top of a jaja (old woman) along with another young woman. This type of transportation is a sure way to get to know someone!
When we arrived to Kyotera, we bought a few more things needed at the school and then went to the gas station to buy sodas. We plopped ourselves on the gas station stoop to enjoy our sugary carbonation. In Uganda, all sodas are sold in glass bottles that must be returned to the store owner. If you buy a soda, you either drink it there or bring them an empty glass bottle in exchange. All empties are reused until they break. Now if only the rest of the world did such a great job at recycling…
While sitting on the gas station stoop, I spotted something strange in the near distance. Two muzungus walking towards the gas station! It was as if the whole world went silent and all I could see were these two unfamiliar muzungus, walkin’ on our African turf. I have spent so much time correcting the local children when they shouted “Muzungu!” at me, but when I saw these two classy ladies walking towards us, I immediately tapped Colby on the shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Look! Muzungus!” They walked into the gas station and from the looks on their faces, they were just as surprised to see us as we were to see them. All four of us casually said hello to one another and then they continued on into the gas station. The battle of the Muzungus. Colby and I win because one of us has red hair.
After our time in Uganda, we headed back to the school via boda boda. Colby and I hopped on and hung on to the driver’s back for dear life. We consistently reminded him throughout the trip “mpola mpola” (slowly slowly) and “wegendereze!” (be careful!). I like to tell myself that these two phrases assure my safety during a bumpy boda boda ride. There are no speed signs on the roads of Rakai. I figure they don’t have enough policemen to enforce speed limits so they just didn’t bother putting up any signs. Instead, they have these massive speed bumps every few kilomiters that you need to go over at snail speed. For some reason, this method seems to be working for the roads of Rakai.
When we got back to Sabina, we had dinner then headed straight for the Clinic. We finished our second coats of paint and retreated to our banda at around 11:30 PM. The next day (the present), we headed back to the clinic to do our finishing touches of the base coat and start painting pictures on the walls.
That’s my recap! We leave in two days for Rwanda and there is still much to do!
Welaba
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Wangi?
I have now been back at Sabina for four days, but this time in different company! My mother, Maria, Ciara, Sarah, and Amy left last week (that’s a sad face). But this time I have COLBY!!!! We arrived on Monday afternoon and immediately went to direct the drama club. The good news is they have now memorized their lines; the bad news is I still can’t understand a word they are saying. On Tuesday most of the Sabina staff traveled to other exceptional schools in the surrounding area to observe ways in which they can improve their own administration. Colby and I were left to care for the kids. We played games, read books, solved puzzles, and sang along to my guitar. It was a really enjoyable day. That evening Vivian, a nine year old at Sabina, pulled Colby and I aside to have a “secret meeting”. We sat down with her at an outside table and she began the discussion with “I want to talk about my brother”. She went along to explain the event of a freak accident which led to her thirteen year old brother’s death. He was playing in the yard when the neighbor’s blade flew off his grass chopper and landed in her brother’s forehead. He was brought to the hospital where he died with in the hour. Vivian was picked up from school and brought to the hospital where she watched her big brother die. This all happened earlier in the school year and Vivian is desperate to share her grief with anyone that will listen. Her mother refuses to talk about their tragedy and her father and other brother are also deceased. The next day, we went to pay a visit to Vivian’s mother. We walked up to her doorless home and she greeted us with a forced smile and the only English sentence she knows, “you are welcome”. Colby and I silently sat with Vivian and her mother in the one roomed home. It is difficult to have a conversation with someone who doesn’t speak the same language as you do. Vivian’s mom owns the run down bar next door. A toothless, balls scratching man walked into the room and plopped down onto the couch next to Colby. He handed her the beer he was sipping from a straw and Colby politely took it. See, Colby was told that it is rude to refuse food or beverage that is offered to her by the host of the household. I failed to mention to her that there is an exception for half drank beer being offered to her by the drunk that walked in from the bar next door. She asked him what it was and he replied “Bell”. Colby looked at me hesitantly and asked me what kind of soda he had given her. I told her that it wasn’t soda, it was beer. She looked at the children in the room, then at the non-English speaking drunk man breathing heavily on the couch coshin next to her then whispered to me “should I drink it?” I shook my head and she apolageticaly handed the man back his beer and said “no thank you”. We spent some ten minutes sipping our sodas in the company of this mysterious stranger until we were uncomfortable enough to tell Vivian that we had to head back to the school.
Today we woke up, had breakfast, and began painting the Sabina clinique (a small room with one trained nurse who thinks an X-ray is used to identify problems with the muscles). We applied the first coat of paint and then retreated to our banda. I was sitting outside the banda, doin’ my bloggin’, when James the permaculture guy came over to me and began asking questions about my culture. He was curious about the educational system, the legal age of consent, and then somewhere during the conversation we shifted to the topic of homosexuality. The conversation went on for over two hours until we finally had to part ways and go on with our day. It was a very interesting discussion, really informative and totally respectful of each other’s cultural differences.
This afternoon, Colby and I did a few interviews with some of the children that are in need of sponsorship. We are putting together a video of all of the children in need of educational funding and hopefully, after showing it to friends and family, those children will receive the sponsorship they need.
That’s what my week has been like so far! Colby and I leave Sabina and travel to Rwanda on Tuesday. We will climb a volcano, see the gorillas, and visit the genocide memorial (AHHH!!!). Then we part from lovely Uganda on August the 15th and head back to the tiny place we came from.
Some Uganda fun facts:
1) Everyone has a guest book. You walk into a home, sign their guest book. You visit a school, sign their guest book. Shop at a store, be sure to sign their guest book!
2) Ugandans LOVE Celine Dion. I don’t know what it is about her, but Celine has put a spell on Uganda. She is heard EVERYWHERE!
3) When you buy a bottle of soda, if you do not return that bottle within the next twenty-four hours, they hunt you down. All bottles are glass and reusable.
4) All towns have a bar with a pool table outside. It doesn’t matter how dirty, how poor that town is, there will always be a pool table.
5) When someone calls your name, you must reply “wangi?”. A simple “yes?” or “hmm?” is disrespectful.
Today we woke up, had breakfast, and began painting the Sabina clinique (a small room with one trained nurse who thinks an X-ray is used to identify problems with the muscles). We applied the first coat of paint and then retreated to our banda. I was sitting outside the banda, doin’ my bloggin’, when James the permaculture guy came over to me and began asking questions about my culture. He was curious about the educational system, the legal age of consent, and then somewhere during the conversation we shifted to the topic of homosexuality. The conversation went on for over two hours until we finally had to part ways and go on with our day. It was a very interesting discussion, really informative and totally respectful of each other’s cultural differences.
This afternoon, Colby and I did a few interviews with some of the children that are in need of sponsorship. We are putting together a video of all of the children in need of educational funding and hopefully, after showing it to friends and family, those children will receive the sponsorship they need.
That’s what my week has been like so far! Colby and I leave Sabina and travel to Rwanda on Tuesday. We will climb a volcano, see the gorillas, and visit the genocide memorial (AHHH!!!). Then we part from lovely Uganda on August the 15th and head back to the tiny place we came from.
Some Uganda fun facts:
1) Everyone has a guest book. You walk into a home, sign their guest book. You visit a school, sign their guest book. Shop at a store, be sure to sign their guest book!
2) Ugandans LOVE Celine Dion. I don’t know what it is about her, but Celine has put a spell on Uganda. She is heard EVERYWHERE!
3) When you buy a bottle of soda, if you do not return that bottle within the next twenty-four hours, they hunt you down. All bottles are glass and reusable.
4) All towns have a bar with a pool table outside. It doesn’t matter how dirty, how poor that town is, there will always be a pool table.
5) When someone calls your name, you must reply “wangi?”. A simple “yes?” or “hmm?” is disrespectful.
Into The Wild
We are safely back from Murchison falls! It was absolutely B-E-A-UTIFUL! There is a surge at the top of the waterfall only six meters wide that the entire force of the Nile river crashes through it’s close walls and continues to flow down the waterfall. It is the most powerful waterfall in the entire world. And I swam in it! Just kidding! I would be dead if I decided to take a dip in that monster.
The next morning we took a game drive at 5:30. Our guide, Caba, taught us all the names of the animals we saw in Luganda. We saw engabe (deer looking creatures), mbogo (buffalo), njofu (elephant), entelegay (giraffes), Kinyonye (birds), and nkima (monkeys). Then we went on a boat ride around the lake to see other animals such as crocodiles and hippos. We were dropped off at the bottom of the waterfall where we met our goofy driver, Calula, and climbed up the side of the falls. During our hike up, Calula took his shirt off to air out his beer belly and began fantasizing about the Nile Gold he was looking forward to once we returned back to civilization.
My mom made his dream come true and bought him a chilled beer at the top of the falls.
The next day we headed back to Kampala, but before we left, we went chimp trekking in a nearby rainforest. There was something very rewarding about searching for an animal in their natural habitat as opposed to staring at them through a glass wall with a backdrop picture of the habitat they once called home.
We got back Saturday night and my mother got on a plane back to the states early Sunday morning. Now, it’s just Colby and me, out here looking for adventure!
The next morning we took a game drive at 5:30. Our guide, Caba, taught us all the names of the animals we saw in Luganda. We saw engabe (deer looking creatures), mbogo (buffalo), njofu (elephant), entelegay (giraffes), Kinyonye (birds), and nkima (monkeys). Then we went on a boat ride around the lake to see other animals such as crocodiles and hippos. We were dropped off at the bottom of the waterfall where we met our goofy driver, Calula, and climbed up the side of the falls. During our hike up, Calula took his shirt off to air out his beer belly and began fantasizing about the Nile Gold he was looking forward to once we returned back to civilization.
My mom made his dream come true and bought him a chilled beer at the top of the falls.
The next day we headed back to Kampala, but before we left, we went chimp trekking in a nearby rainforest. There was something very rewarding about searching for an animal in their natural habitat as opposed to staring at them through a glass wall with a backdrop picture of the habitat they once called home.
We got back Saturday night and my mother got on a plane back to the states early Sunday morning. Now, it’s just Colby and me, out here looking for adventure!
A Wife's Duty
It’s been four days since I’ve written! Let me recap what each day has been like since Sunday:
After the church service, we headed for Patrick’s unborn daughter’s funeral just down the road. I expected there to be many people at the ceremony, but when we walked into the bathroom sized house I only found eight others surrounding the blanket wrapped body on the floor. We each knelt by the body and bowed our heads in respect while the sobbing grandmother exposed the partly decomposed fetus. I do not want to begin to explain what that was like. We took our place on the floor and listened to the grandfather’s speech. He said a few prayers and sang a few songs while the grandmother continued to sob in the corner. Once the ceremony was over, the body was wrapped in a blanket of stretched out tree bark and tied up with rope. We buried her in their backyard and sang songs of grief while the men piled the dirt over the child who never had a chance. I remember it like a movie. The expected aunt of the child stood silently and strong while the expected grandmother sat helplessly alone under a passion fruit tree and cried. There was an anxious puppy tied to a tree just a few feet away, desperately trying to figure out what was going on. My fellow muzungus stood around the grave and cried as if it was our own family member who had died. At the end of the burial, the grandfather thanked us for coming. It didn’t matter that we didn’t know his name and he didn’t know ours, he was happy to have shared such an intimate moment with perfect strangers.
After the funeral, the mood completely shifted. We had promised the local women’s group weeks ago that we would come to their monthly meeting under the giant mango tree. Although we were all in no mood to socialize with these crafty jajas (old women), we had made a commitment and when people here expect guests, they go all out with preparations. We were greeted by the jajas with song and dance. They smiled their partly toothless smiles and danced around us while singing in their shaky soprano voices, “you are welcomoo! You are welcomoo!” We spent the evening beading necklaces and making footballs out of banana peels with the jajas. When we left, they handed us two baskets full of eggs as a gift. Don’t worry; I took many pictures of those lively jajas!
That night we had a dinner party at one of the teacher’s homes. We brought wine, beer, soda, fried plantains, and Ciara and I made peanut butter and banana finger-sandwiches. The teacher’s home was in a dormitory for other local young people. I use the term “home” loosely; it was more like a tiny room lit with a blue light bulb. We danced to African music and ate a delicious meal in the company of great friends. That was one day, but it felt like a week!
Monday morning Ciara and I taught English to the P4 class and reading to the P1s. Then, it was hair-braiding time! I sat on the floor for five hours as the young Ugandan woman pulled and tugged on my muzungu hair. During those five hours, I watched a movie, ate lunch, and taught the drama club. Those five hours of labor only cost 10,000 shillings (roughly $5). Isn’t that nuts?
Monday night we made breakfast for dinner. Amy, Sarah, Ciara, and I went to Amy’s hut to prepare the pancakes and eggs. We then brought the food over to the banda where we met my mother, Maria, and Debra for breakfast-dinner. It was delicious! The four of us then left the group and headed back to Amy’s to watch some Californication on our last night together. Just as we were approaching her hut, our feet took on a burning sensation. We looked down to find red ants swarmed around the bottoms of our legs. Sarah cried “Ensanafu!!!! RUNNN!!!!!” We ran to the elevated water hole where we swatted, brushed, and jumped up and down, desperately trying to relieve ourselves of the army of ensenafu (ants). Ciara had abandoned her shoes and run in the opposite direction. Sarah took on the role of the hero and went hopping into the pitch-black night in search for the lost Ciara. The nearby priest suspiciously poked his head out of a neighboring young woman’s window and came out in nothing but a robe. I wonder what he was doing in there…
He helped us brush off the enraged ensenafu and told Amy that it was not safe to sleep in her bed tonight. We retreated to the library where we stripped down naked to get the rest of the little buggers out of our bras and underwear. That night we stayed up until 1 AM playing cards and occasionally smacking an undiscovered ant creeping out of our shirts up our necks. I had always thought ants were harmless, until that fiery night.
Tuesday my mother and I taught her last class (Math P4) and then hit the road. Daniel picked us up to take us to Kampala where I would pick Colby up the next morning. During the drive, we persuaded Daniel to take us to visit his two wives with his two sets of children at two different homes. The second wife lived in a tiny room/house in town with her one-year-old boy. His first wife lives in a nearby village just a few kilometers up the road with her three children. Daniel is trying to decide which wife he wants to marry in church. I vote for the first wife, but he claims that she is misbehaved. Daniel (along with most of the rest of Ugandan men) believes that a man owns his wife/wives and their children. He believes that a woman should always be at home waiting for the husband and taking care of the children because it is his home and his wife and they should be where he left them. The rest of the journey was spent talking about the rights of women in Uganda. My mother certainly voiced her opinions and Daniel listened patiently, silently disregarding every point she made. Even though he lacks well-deserved respect towards African women, I love Daniel and cannot blame him for the culture he has acquired.
Wednesday morning I picked Colby up from the airport. She was ecstatic during the car ride from Entebbe airport back to Emanuel’s house. We spent the day in Kampala and for some reason she was able to stay awake until nighttime (not counting the times she nodded off while standing).
Now we are in the car on the way to Murchison Falls, a safari in northern Uganda. The driver just pulled out a flask of Ugandan Waragi (gin) and told Colby and me that that was his medicine for tonight. Wish us luck!
After the church service, we headed for Patrick’s unborn daughter’s funeral just down the road. I expected there to be many people at the ceremony, but when we walked into the bathroom sized house I only found eight others surrounding the blanket wrapped body on the floor. We each knelt by the body and bowed our heads in respect while the sobbing grandmother exposed the partly decomposed fetus. I do not want to begin to explain what that was like. We took our place on the floor and listened to the grandfather’s speech. He said a few prayers and sang a few songs while the grandmother continued to sob in the corner. Once the ceremony was over, the body was wrapped in a blanket of stretched out tree bark and tied up with rope. We buried her in their backyard and sang songs of grief while the men piled the dirt over the child who never had a chance. I remember it like a movie. The expected aunt of the child stood silently and strong while the expected grandmother sat helplessly alone under a passion fruit tree and cried. There was an anxious puppy tied to a tree just a few feet away, desperately trying to figure out what was going on. My fellow muzungus stood around the grave and cried as if it was our own family member who had died. At the end of the burial, the grandfather thanked us for coming. It didn’t matter that we didn’t know his name and he didn’t know ours, he was happy to have shared such an intimate moment with perfect strangers.
After the funeral, the mood completely shifted. We had promised the local women’s group weeks ago that we would come to their monthly meeting under the giant mango tree. Although we were all in no mood to socialize with these crafty jajas (old women), we had made a commitment and when people here expect guests, they go all out with preparations. We were greeted by the jajas with song and dance. They smiled their partly toothless smiles and danced around us while singing in their shaky soprano voices, “you are welcomoo! You are welcomoo!” We spent the evening beading necklaces and making footballs out of banana peels with the jajas. When we left, they handed us two baskets full of eggs as a gift. Don’t worry; I took many pictures of those lively jajas!
That night we had a dinner party at one of the teacher’s homes. We brought wine, beer, soda, fried plantains, and Ciara and I made peanut butter and banana finger-sandwiches. The teacher’s home was in a dormitory for other local young people. I use the term “home” loosely; it was more like a tiny room lit with a blue light bulb. We danced to African music and ate a delicious meal in the company of great friends. That was one day, but it felt like a week!
Monday morning Ciara and I taught English to the P4 class and reading to the P1s. Then, it was hair-braiding time! I sat on the floor for five hours as the young Ugandan woman pulled and tugged on my muzungu hair. During those five hours, I watched a movie, ate lunch, and taught the drama club. Those five hours of labor only cost 10,000 shillings (roughly $5). Isn’t that nuts?
Monday night we made breakfast for dinner. Amy, Sarah, Ciara, and I went to Amy’s hut to prepare the pancakes and eggs. We then brought the food over to the banda where we met my mother, Maria, and Debra for breakfast-dinner. It was delicious! The four of us then left the group and headed back to Amy’s to watch some Californication on our last night together. Just as we were approaching her hut, our feet took on a burning sensation. We looked down to find red ants swarmed around the bottoms of our legs. Sarah cried “Ensanafu!!!! RUNNN!!!!!” We ran to the elevated water hole where we swatted, brushed, and jumped up and down, desperately trying to relieve ourselves of the army of ensenafu (ants). Ciara had abandoned her shoes and run in the opposite direction. Sarah took on the role of the hero and went hopping into the pitch-black night in search for the lost Ciara. The nearby priest suspiciously poked his head out of a neighboring young woman’s window and came out in nothing but a robe. I wonder what he was doing in there…
He helped us brush off the enraged ensenafu and told Amy that it was not safe to sleep in her bed tonight. We retreated to the library where we stripped down naked to get the rest of the little buggers out of our bras and underwear. That night we stayed up until 1 AM playing cards and occasionally smacking an undiscovered ant creeping out of our shirts up our necks. I had always thought ants were harmless, until that fiery night.
Tuesday my mother and I taught her last class (Math P4) and then hit the road. Daniel picked us up to take us to Kampala where I would pick Colby up the next morning. During the drive, we persuaded Daniel to take us to visit his two wives with his two sets of children at two different homes. The second wife lived in a tiny room/house in town with her one-year-old boy. His first wife lives in a nearby village just a few kilometers up the road with her three children. Daniel is trying to decide which wife he wants to marry in church. I vote for the first wife, but he claims that she is misbehaved. Daniel (along with most of the rest of Ugandan men) believes that a man owns his wife/wives and their children. He believes that a woman should always be at home waiting for the husband and taking care of the children because it is his home and his wife and they should be where he left them. The rest of the journey was spent talking about the rights of women in Uganda. My mother certainly voiced her opinions and Daniel listened patiently, silently disregarding every point she made. Even though he lacks well-deserved respect towards African women, I love Daniel and cannot blame him for the culture he has acquired.
Wednesday morning I picked Colby up from the airport. She was ecstatic during the car ride from Entebbe airport back to Emanuel’s house. We spent the day in Kampala and for some reason she was able to stay awake until nighttime (not counting the times she nodded off while standing).
Now we are in the car on the way to Murchison Falls, a safari in northern Uganda. The driver just pulled out a flask of Ugandan Waragi (gin) and told Colby and me that that was his medicine for tonight. Wish us luck!
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Where there is beauty, there is pain
I just got back from church. It was the children’s service and I expected pleasant singing and fun Bible stories, but instead I got a whole lotta hate. The preacher’s sermon was about homosexuality and abortion. I couldn’t understand most of it because it was in Luganda, but what I did get was enough to make my stomach turn. After several songs of praise and a few Bible passages read by some of the children, the preacher took to the podium. He began his sermon by addressing homosexuality. I didn’t understand the majority of his words, but it was clear that he was against it. He said that homosexuality is unacceptable and sacrilegious. He accused the young people of Uganda of committing such acts in the privacy of their school dormitories and demanded that it stop immediately. Then his speech shifted into Luganda and from there on out all I could understand was hand gestures. Several minutes and a few strong gestures later, I heard the word abortion. The topic had shifted from one Ugandan immoral act to another. “You may not discuss whether a life is to be kept or destroyed. It is illogical. So close that chapter” was the instruction the preacher gave to the hundreds of young minds sitting in front of him. I translate those words into “do not think and make your own decisions, it is a silly thing to do, listen to me and never question the words I say”. I do not see how this lesson can help shape strong, thoughtful, and independent minds. I was angered by the way he was brainwashing the children and not giving them any opportunity to think for themselves. I left the service early and took a walk around the fields, trying to sort out exactly what had made me so uncomfortable in that church. It was the hatred; the hatred of innocent people around Uganda, and the rest of the world.
Uncle Patrick’s baby died. His wife was due to give birth within the next few weeks. She came down with malaria a few days ago so she went to the Masaka Clinique. The doctor there told her last night that her fetus had died. She is now in labor and is expected to give birth to her lifeless child within a few hours. The funeral is this afternoon. I’m going.
Death in Uganda is common. More common than I am used to. Yesterday, I was sitting by a pool in Masaka with Ciara, Sarah (the old Peace Corps volunteer), and Amy (the new Peace Corps volunteer). Sarah brought up the much loved postman Mike and asked Amy how he was doing. Amy casually said “Oh, Mike? Yeah, he’s dead”. Sarah was taken by the news, considering postman Mike was a friend to her. He was a young and healthy man with several children and a wife at home. She grieved quietly for a few minutes, and then carried on as she was. You can’t be too sensitive to the things you see and hear in Uganda. There is a lot of beauty, but there is also a lot of pain.
Uncle Patrick’s baby died. His wife was due to give birth within the next few weeks. She came down with malaria a few days ago so she went to the Masaka Clinique. The doctor there told her last night that her fetus had died. She is now in labor and is expected to give birth to her lifeless child within a few hours. The funeral is this afternoon. I’m going.
Death in Uganda is common. More common than I am used to. Yesterday, I was sitting by a pool in Masaka with Ciara, Sarah (the old Peace Corps volunteer), and Amy (the new Peace Corps volunteer). Sarah brought up the much loved postman Mike and asked Amy how he was doing. Amy casually said “Oh, Mike? Yeah, he’s dead”. Sarah was taken by the news, considering postman Mike was a friend to her. He was a young and healthy man with several children and a wife at home. She grieved quietly for a few minutes, and then carried on as she was. You can’t be too sensitive to the things you see and hear in Uganda. There is a lot of beauty, but there is also a lot of pain.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Age is just a number
This morning, I stampeded through villages with an army of small children.
Let me explain: In the mornings, I have been going on jogs with several friends. My panting muzungu face is a sight to see for all the locals around here and most stop to watch as we pass by. This morning, the local children walking to school were so intrigued by us, they decided to join the jog. Alarmed by the laughter, coughing, and chatter I heard behind me, I turned around to find at least a dozen children of different ages following suit. They jogged with us for at least ten minutes until they reached their school and waved goodbye. It was the best jog, yet.
The peace corps volunteer here, Amy, has set up several after school clubs here for the children. One of the clubs is the Drama club, where they are putting up two African folk tales. I have been participating in their past few rehearsals and some of the kids are really good! Amy leaves next week than I take over the club and see to it that the plays are ready to be presented by August 12th. There is also a club called GLOW (Girls Leading Our World). They discuss female issues in Uganda and have organized a discussion with the few Americans here that will take place Thursday at 3:30. The discussion is focused on the culture of women in America. They plan on asking questions about weddings, the women’s place in society, the jobs women are “allowed” to have, etc. Then we are given the chance to ask them questions about the women’s culture in Uganda. I asked Amy if I would be able to touch on the topic of homosexuality during the discussion and she advised me that it was best not to. There is a bill in Uganda that outlaws all homosexuality. Luckily it has not been passed because several nations around the world have threatened to cut off all support they provide for Uganda if the bill comes into law. The bill not only sentences homosexuals to life imprisonment or death, it also prosecutes all parents, teachers, neighbors, and friends who do not expose a known homosexual to the authorities. This homophobia is a direct result of fear. Fear of AIDS and fear of God. I know it’s ridiculous, but there isn’t any use trying to talk to anyone here about the issue. They only get defensive and irrational. So I keep to myself. But if anyone asks me at the discussion today about homosexuality and my views on it, I will speak up.
Yesterday evening, I visited the local Clinique with an injured student, Aliva. She was cutting grass when she fell onto the blade and sliced a decent chunk of flesh off the side of her foot (I’m sorry, that was a bit graphic). She waited two days for her uncle to pick her up and take her to the Clinique, but he never came. So my mom brought her there and saw to it that she was treated. I met them there with Ciara Maria, and Amy and Doctor Richard gave us the grand tour of the place. We saw the maternity room, where troubled women about to burst with life laid uncomfortably on their sides, completely alone. There wasn’t a single husband present. Then he took us into the room where a women was in labor and made me feel even more intrusive than I already did. Next, we saw the pediatric unit; A small shack behind the maternity room where mothers laid in bed with their sick babies. Each bed was no more than half a foot away from the next. In the front of the Clinique, there are always a few mothers with their sick children, sitting on piles of dirt, waiting patiently for their turn with Doctor Richard. Please, oh please, don’t let me fall and need to get staples in my head. Thank God I didn’t bring my rollerblades!
Age is insignificant here. You ask an adult their age, and they’ll tell you there are in their 30s. This isn’t because they do not wish to disclose their age, it’s because they simply do not remember. No one celebrates birthdays here, so as the years go by, people begin to lose track. People refer to the Jajas (old women) in the village as women in their hundreds. But, something about the way they walk and talk tells me otherwise. There is no way a woman that can walk, cook, and clean the way these jajas do can be 120.
Today is chilli. I was meant to go into Kyotera (a neighboring town) today to pick up paint, but riding a boda boda in this weather does not sound like a good idea. We finished installing screens in all the windows yesterday, and I do not teach any classes on Thursdays, so I guess this is lazy day! Lazy day until the children get out of school and the GLOW meeting begins.
Dad, thank you sooo much for keeping up with my emails! Sara, I miss you! You should call me. Anyone that has free long distance should call me. I put the wrong number up last time; here’s my correct number: 011256788300218
Thanks for reading!
Let me explain: In the mornings, I have been going on jogs with several friends. My panting muzungu face is a sight to see for all the locals around here and most stop to watch as we pass by. This morning, the local children walking to school were so intrigued by us, they decided to join the jog. Alarmed by the laughter, coughing, and chatter I heard behind me, I turned around to find at least a dozen children of different ages following suit. They jogged with us for at least ten minutes until they reached their school and waved goodbye. It was the best jog, yet.
The peace corps volunteer here, Amy, has set up several after school clubs here for the children. One of the clubs is the Drama club, where they are putting up two African folk tales. I have been participating in their past few rehearsals and some of the kids are really good! Amy leaves next week than I take over the club and see to it that the plays are ready to be presented by August 12th. There is also a club called GLOW (Girls Leading Our World). They discuss female issues in Uganda and have organized a discussion with the few Americans here that will take place Thursday at 3:30. The discussion is focused on the culture of women in America. They plan on asking questions about weddings, the women’s place in society, the jobs women are “allowed” to have, etc. Then we are given the chance to ask them questions about the women’s culture in Uganda. I asked Amy if I would be able to touch on the topic of homosexuality during the discussion and she advised me that it was best not to. There is a bill in Uganda that outlaws all homosexuality. Luckily it has not been passed because several nations around the world have threatened to cut off all support they provide for Uganda if the bill comes into law. The bill not only sentences homosexuals to life imprisonment or death, it also prosecutes all parents, teachers, neighbors, and friends who do not expose a known homosexual to the authorities. This homophobia is a direct result of fear. Fear of AIDS and fear of God. I know it’s ridiculous, but there isn’t any use trying to talk to anyone here about the issue. They only get defensive and irrational. So I keep to myself. But if anyone asks me at the discussion today about homosexuality and my views on it, I will speak up.
Yesterday evening, I visited the local Clinique with an injured student, Aliva. She was cutting grass when she fell onto the blade and sliced a decent chunk of flesh off the side of her foot (I’m sorry, that was a bit graphic). She waited two days for her uncle to pick her up and take her to the Clinique, but he never came. So my mom brought her there and saw to it that she was treated. I met them there with Ciara Maria, and Amy and Doctor Richard gave us the grand tour of the place. We saw the maternity room, where troubled women about to burst with life laid uncomfortably on their sides, completely alone. There wasn’t a single husband present. Then he took us into the room where a women was in labor and made me feel even more intrusive than I already did. Next, we saw the pediatric unit; A small shack behind the maternity room where mothers laid in bed with their sick babies. Each bed was no more than half a foot away from the next. In the front of the Clinique, there are always a few mothers with their sick children, sitting on piles of dirt, waiting patiently for their turn with Doctor Richard. Please, oh please, don’t let me fall and need to get staples in my head. Thank God I didn’t bring my rollerblades!
Age is insignificant here. You ask an adult their age, and they’ll tell you there are in their 30s. This isn’t because they do not wish to disclose their age, it’s because they simply do not remember. No one celebrates birthdays here, so as the years go by, people begin to lose track. People refer to the Jajas (old women) in the village as women in their hundreds. But, something about the way they walk and talk tells me otherwise. There is no way a woman that can walk, cook, and clean the way these jajas do can be 120.
Today is chilli. I was meant to go into Kyotera (a neighboring town) today to pick up paint, but riding a boda boda in this weather does not sound like a good idea. We finished installing screens in all the windows yesterday, and I do not teach any classes on Thursdays, so I guess this is lazy day! Lazy day until the children get out of school and the GLOW meeting begins.
Dad, thank you sooo much for keeping up with my emails! Sara, I miss you! You should call me. Anyone that has free long distance should call me. I put the wrong number up last time; here’s my correct number: 011256788300218
Thanks for reading!
Monday, July 19, 2010
Sue Sews Rose on Slow Joe Crow's Clothes
Good morning! Wasuze Oteya (How was your sleep)?
This morning Ciara, Maria and I taught the P1 and P2 classes. The first lesion was from 8:30-9:30 with the P2 class (Second graders). When we walked into the classroom, they all stood up instantly and chanted in harmony “Good Morning Aunties thank you for coming to teach us” we responded with “Good morning. How are you?” and they jumped in with “I am alright. How are you?” The conversation strangely carried on like this until they were seated. We spent the hour writing riddles on the board for them to solve. At the end of the class, they clapped for us. But it wasn’t just a regular applause, it was a synchronized clap. Then they chanted “thank you Auntie for teaching us today. You are most welcome”.
The next class was at 10:00 with the P1 class. We divided them into three groups and took them to separate corners of the field where we read with them. Everything was pleasant until I got to Dr. Seuss. Leave it to me to choose the most outrageously written book to read to small African children that are just beginning to learn English. When I got to “Sue sews rose on slow Joe Crow’s clothes” they completely lost interest. Every other sentence out of my mouth from then on was either “do not throw the grass” or “do not hit one another”. Other than the last ten minutes, I’d say my day of teaching was a success.
Yesterday we helped the children put the new bed covers we brought over their mattresses. They had been sleeping on filthy mattresses up until now and could not have been that comfortable sleeping on the embarrassing pee stains of their childhood. They lined up with their worn out mattresses and waited patiently for their well deserved new mattress covers. With every cover that was dispensed came a curtsy and a smile from the proud owner.
Yesterday evening, I went on a run with the children. The image of three white people and a dozen Ugandan children running on the side of the road through several towns and market places made the locals laugh with glee. We must have run for several miles and by the time we made it back to the Sabina home, we were all dripping with sweat and panting for air. Kaleem, the only boy present, felt the need to prove how strong he was by stopping every so often to do pushups along the way. This backfired. In the last half a mile, he completely ran out of fuel. Kaleem grabbed my hand and panted out the words “I need your power. I am weak now”. I slowed down for a bit until he was able to catch his breath. We began to pick up the pace and just as I was explaining what it meant to pace yourself, he was sprinting toward the front of the group, determined to be the first one back. Boys will be boys! We all stretched together by the passion fruit trees and sugar cane plants. This stretching session soon turned into a headstand contest. It was a moment to remember.
I am off to eat lunch then install screens into the open windows around the campus. Dad, thank you for keeping track of my email! I miss you and look forward to seeing you as soon as I get back to share stories and give presents. Oh yes…presents! Sara, I miss you a shit ton. Poor one out for your homie in Silver Bay! Colby, I am counting down the days until you arrive! Mary, I miss you and will come by for some tea as soon as I get back! Sisters, I miss you most of all. Call me whenever you can! 0001788300218
Xoxoxoxoxo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This morning Ciara, Maria and I taught the P1 and P2 classes. The first lesion was from 8:30-9:30 with the P2 class (Second graders). When we walked into the classroom, they all stood up instantly and chanted in harmony “Good Morning Aunties thank you for coming to teach us” we responded with “Good morning. How are you?” and they jumped in with “I am alright. How are you?” The conversation strangely carried on like this until they were seated. We spent the hour writing riddles on the board for them to solve. At the end of the class, they clapped for us. But it wasn’t just a regular applause, it was a synchronized clap. Then they chanted “thank you Auntie for teaching us today. You are most welcome”.
The next class was at 10:00 with the P1 class. We divided them into three groups and took them to separate corners of the field where we read with them. Everything was pleasant until I got to Dr. Seuss. Leave it to me to choose the most outrageously written book to read to small African children that are just beginning to learn English. When I got to “Sue sews rose on slow Joe Crow’s clothes” they completely lost interest. Every other sentence out of my mouth from then on was either “do not throw the grass” or “do not hit one another”. Other than the last ten minutes, I’d say my day of teaching was a success.
Yesterday we helped the children put the new bed covers we brought over their mattresses. They had been sleeping on filthy mattresses up until now and could not have been that comfortable sleeping on the embarrassing pee stains of their childhood. They lined up with their worn out mattresses and waited patiently for their well deserved new mattress covers. With every cover that was dispensed came a curtsy and a smile from the proud owner.
Yesterday evening, I went on a run with the children. The image of three white people and a dozen Ugandan children running on the side of the road through several towns and market places made the locals laugh with glee. We must have run for several miles and by the time we made it back to the Sabina home, we were all dripping with sweat and panting for air. Kaleem, the only boy present, felt the need to prove how strong he was by stopping every so often to do pushups along the way. This backfired. In the last half a mile, he completely ran out of fuel. Kaleem grabbed my hand and panted out the words “I need your power. I am weak now”. I slowed down for a bit until he was able to catch his breath. We began to pick up the pace and just as I was explaining what it meant to pace yourself, he was sprinting toward the front of the group, determined to be the first one back. Boys will be boys! We all stretched together by the passion fruit trees and sugar cane plants. This stretching session soon turned into a headstand contest. It was a moment to remember.
I am off to eat lunch then install screens into the open windows around the campus. Dad, thank you for keeping track of my email! I miss you and look forward to seeing you as soon as I get back to share stories and give presents. Oh yes…presents! Sara, I miss you a shit ton. Poor one out for your homie in Silver Bay! Colby, I am counting down the days until you arrive! Mary, I miss you and will come by for some tea as soon as I get back! Sisters, I miss you most of all. Call me whenever you can! 0001788300218
Xoxoxoxoxo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Impossible Acceptance
I have been at the Sabina home now for three days and could not be more happy! I quickly got reaquanted with the children I got to know well two years ago and have made many new friends with the ones I had never met. It was mind boggling to see how much some of them have grown. Ronah, who was a baby at the time, is now a three year old munchkin full of life and energy. She doesn't stop talking (mostly in Luganda)and is always in my arms or holding onto my finger. I was so happy to see Viola, an awesome girl who wears shorts, plays soccer, and drums at night with the rest of the guys still here at Sabina when I arrived. Viola and Hilda, a bright and sarcastic twelve year old, have been helping me immensely with my Luganda.
Meg, a friend I had made two years ago here at the Sabina home, is meant to be in Secondary school by now. To my surprise I found her here at Sabina when I arrived. She told me that she goes to school at Saint Mary's, just down the road, but sleeps here because her piers have shunned her from the dormitory at Saint Mary's. Meg has HIV and is not afraid to inform those who ask. Once her piers found out about her condition, they refused to have her sleep in the same vacinity as them because they were afraid to catch the disease. After months of putting up with the intolerance, Meg finally informed Sabina of her problem and they now allow her to continue boarding at the Sabina home.
Meg took me to visit her school yesterday. She wanted to introduce me to some of her friends and teachers. As I walked through the dirt paths of the Saint Mary home, I saw signs that read "AIDS kills". I thought about how Meg has to pass these painful reminders everyday. How can she possibly call a place like this "home"? And how does anyone expect her fellow piers to treat Meg with respect when such strong and blunt messages are being thrown at them without any further information?
I have to cut this blog short because others are waiting to use the internet while it lasts. I hope all is well back at home!
xoxo
Meg, a friend I had made two years ago here at the Sabina home, is meant to be in Secondary school by now. To my surprise I found her here at Sabina when I arrived. She told me that she goes to school at Saint Mary's, just down the road, but sleeps here because her piers have shunned her from the dormitory at Saint Mary's. Meg has HIV and is not afraid to inform those who ask. Once her piers found out about her condition, they refused to have her sleep in the same vacinity as them because they were afraid to catch the disease. After months of putting up with the intolerance, Meg finally informed Sabina of her problem and they now allow her to continue boarding at the Sabina home.
Meg took me to visit her school yesterday. She wanted to introduce me to some of her friends and teachers. As I walked through the dirt paths of the Saint Mary home, I saw signs that read "AIDS kills". I thought about how Meg has to pass these painful reminders everyday. How can she possibly call a place like this "home"? And how does anyone expect her fellow piers to treat Meg with respect when such strong and blunt messages are being thrown at them without any further information?
I have to cut this blog short because others are waiting to use the internet while it lasts. I hope all is well back at home!
xoxo
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Bomb free and loving it!
I have arrived! After two days of travel and a total of seven hours of sleep, my mom and I finally made it to Entebbe airport! We came with eight suitcases loaded with much needed medicine and bed sheets for the Sabina home. British Air was nice enough to wave the baggage check fees because we were there for humanitarian work. With a lot of back straining and a little help from some friends along the way, we were able to get all eight, 50 lb suitcases safely to Kampala.
We spent the past two nights at Emanuel’s house just outside of Kampala. As many of you have heard, Somalia’s Al Shabaab set two bombs off last Sunday in Kampala. As of yesterday, Museveni (Uganda’s twenty-five year president) has declared war and plans on sending 20,000 more “peace keeping” soldiers into Somalia. Since last Sunday, other threats have been made on Uganda and Burundi. On the up side, President Obama has publically said that he is behind Uganda and will help protect this country. Hillary Clinton also wrote a letter to a Ugandan paper telling the people that America has always loved Uganda and pledges allegiance. I love that! Obama called Museveni after the bombs went off to express his concern for this country and the innocent lives that were lost (74). I don’t know about you, but the image of President O calling President Museveni up personally just to check in really makes me smile.
As of now, I am on the road heading to safe and lovely Rakai, three hours south of Kampala. In the van we have eight suitcases, two giant jugs of water, three backpacks, fifty mosquito nets, a collapsible hospital wall, a medicine cart, twelve roles of toilet paper, four bodies, and a guitar. Don’t ask me how we did it! Sarah, the former Peace Corps volunteer that was at Sabina two years ago when I was, has come back for a two-month visit. My mom and I are riding with her and her driver friend, Ali. The road is full of potholes and crazy drivers. This makes the trip all the more exciting!
Yesterday was a fantastic day. Still jet lagged, we managed to pull ourselves out of bed just before noon. Our first stop was at the JMS (Joint Medical Supplies) where we picked up fifty mosquito nets, a medicine cart, and a four-sided hospital curtain/wall/thingy. From there, we hopped on a boda-boda (a taxi in motorcycle form) and headed to Saint Peter’s school to visit my friend Joseph. He was very happy to se us. We walked around the school and introduced us to his teachers and his nurse. Joseph is HIV positive and is currently being treated by the school nurse as one of three hundred of her patients. Still, Joseph always has a beaming smile and an insatiable curiosity for life. After our visit to Saint Peter’s, we hopped another boda-boda and headed to the Children of Uganda (COU) offices where we met up with Sarah. The three of us headed from there to Kiwanga. Kiwanga is where I ended up two years ago for several nights because I had missed my flight. I stayed with Auntie Maria where we played scrabble all day and ate from her wondrous garden. It is an old orphanage near Kampala that used to care for half of the children at Sabina before the funds ran out. Now, the place is occupied by good ol’ Auntie Maria and all the mentally/physically disabled adults that were once orphaned children. Kawala, one of my favorite people on the planet Earth, now lives at Kiwanga. She and about eight other disabled people ranging in age from about 16-50 happily spend their time making crafts and enjoying each other’s company at the beautiful Chiwanga. Auntie Maria is a remarkable mother to all of them.
After spending two hours at Kiwanga, frolicking around with Kawala and eating deliciouso jack fruit (which by the way is the model flavor for juicy fruit gum) my mom and I got a ride back to the area we are staying and got some dinner at a nearby French restaurant. Doni, a boda-boda driving friend of ours, came and met us at the end of our meal and helped us finish what was left on our plates. He does not speak much English and has been helping me learn some Luganda. After a beautiful day, delicious food, and a Luganda lesson, Doni drove us home on his boda-boda and we called it a night.
I am so happy to be back in Uganda. I missed all the friendly faces and sweet bananas. I missed the goats and the cows and the children and the jackfruit. Colby- I can’t wait for you to get here. You will fall in LOVE with this place.
Vocabulary of the day:
Mulungi- Beautiful
Oli Mukuwano Wange- You are my friend
Nkwagala Nnyo- I love you very much
Bambi- Please
Webale- Thank you
Nsonouwa- I am sorry
I don’t understand- sikitegende
Sente Meka- How much?
We spent the past two nights at Emanuel’s house just outside of Kampala. As many of you have heard, Somalia’s Al Shabaab set two bombs off last Sunday in Kampala. As of yesterday, Museveni (Uganda’s twenty-five year president) has declared war and plans on sending 20,000 more “peace keeping” soldiers into Somalia. Since last Sunday, other threats have been made on Uganda and Burundi. On the up side, President Obama has publically said that he is behind Uganda and will help protect this country. Hillary Clinton also wrote a letter to a Ugandan paper telling the people that America has always loved Uganda and pledges allegiance. I love that! Obama called Museveni after the bombs went off to express his concern for this country and the innocent lives that were lost (74). I don’t know about you, but the image of President O calling President Museveni up personally just to check in really makes me smile.
As of now, I am on the road heading to safe and lovely Rakai, three hours south of Kampala. In the van we have eight suitcases, two giant jugs of water, three backpacks, fifty mosquito nets, a collapsible hospital wall, a medicine cart, twelve roles of toilet paper, four bodies, and a guitar. Don’t ask me how we did it! Sarah, the former Peace Corps volunteer that was at Sabina two years ago when I was, has come back for a two-month visit. My mom and I are riding with her and her driver friend, Ali. The road is full of potholes and crazy drivers. This makes the trip all the more exciting!
Yesterday was a fantastic day. Still jet lagged, we managed to pull ourselves out of bed just before noon. Our first stop was at the JMS (Joint Medical Supplies) where we picked up fifty mosquito nets, a medicine cart, and a four-sided hospital curtain/wall/thingy. From there, we hopped on a boda-boda (a taxi in motorcycle form) and headed to Saint Peter’s school to visit my friend Joseph. He was very happy to se us. We walked around the school and introduced us to his teachers and his nurse. Joseph is HIV positive and is currently being treated by the school nurse as one of three hundred of her patients. Still, Joseph always has a beaming smile and an insatiable curiosity for life. After our visit to Saint Peter’s, we hopped another boda-boda and headed to the Children of Uganda (COU) offices where we met up with Sarah. The three of us headed from there to Kiwanga. Kiwanga is where I ended up two years ago for several nights because I had missed my flight. I stayed with Auntie Maria where we played scrabble all day and ate from her wondrous garden. It is an old orphanage near Kampala that used to care for half of the children at Sabina before the funds ran out. Now, the place is occupied by good ol’ Auntie Maria and all the mentally/physically disabled adults that were once orphaned children. Kawala, one of my favorite people on the planet Earth, now lives at Kiwanga. She and about eight other disabled people ranging in age from about 16-50 happily spend their time making crafts and enjoying each other’s company at the beautiful Chiwanga. Auntie Maria is a remarkable mother to all of them.
After spending two hours at Kiwanga, frolicking around with Kawala and eating deliciouso jack fruit (which by the way is the model flavor for juicy fruit gum) my mom and I got a ride back to the area we are staying and got some dinner at a nearby French restaurant. Doni, a boda-boda driving friend of ours, came and met us at the end of our meal and helped us finish what was left on our plates. He does not speak much English and has been helping me learn some Luganda. After a beautiful day, delicious food, and a Luganda lesson, Doni drove us home on his boda-boda and we called it a night.
I am so happy to be back in Uganda. I missed all the friendly faces and sweet bananas. I missed the goats and the cows and the children and the jackfruit. Colby- I can’t wait for you to get here. You will fall in LOVE with this place.
Vocabulary of the day:
Mulungi- Beautiful
Oli Mukuwano Wange- You are my friend
Nkwagala Nnyo- I love you very much
Bambi- Please
Webale- Thank you
Nsonouwa- I am sorry
I don’t understand- sikitegende
Sente Meka- How much?
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