More on the topic of roller-coasters....

Aaaah - the Roller Coaster Ride of Emotions is always right at the back door waiting for - no - grabbing - passengers.  Just about the time you think you’ve acclimated to a new way of doing things, of living, of thinking the weird has become normal and you’ve become somewhat inured to  heartbreaking sights and stories, something throws you on the ride.   This week’s ride came... AGAIN... courtesy of the Sociopathic Head Teacher (we’ll call him SHT for short - how appropriate) at Peter’s School. 

To back up a bit, a small clutch of new volunteers arrived last week and I was part of what’s called Tech Week, where volunteers are introduced to some of the skills they might be using in their work.    It was a great group and we’d spent a fair amount of time together,  so when Saturday arrived we were off to play.  They wanted to meet Peter and shop so I was on my way to meet them at their hotel when I ran into Peter – out of school when he shouldn’t be –and looking liked he’d just lost his best friend or afraid he might.

Near tears, he struggled to explain tell me that the SHT - known for his merciless treatment of students - the same one who has literally turned his back on me in the middle of “conversations,” who called Peter out in front of the whole school announcing that this former "street-kid is a piece of human waste - stay away from him," canes students at night, boxes ears, etc. had found yet another way to damage  a student – this time sending Peter out of school for a week.  He knows Peter has no home, has no way to get food and is in the midst of reviewing for the exams that determine whether   high school is possible.

During the last break between terms, you might recall that I sponsored Peter for a leadership camp.  He came back so energized and motivated that he formed a group at school and taught them about hygiene and built six hand-washing-stations around the school.  In other words, contributing in a significant way, demonstrating his commitment to his school.  He’s also been invited to represent the street-kids at a conference. Life was turning around – so SHT had to up-the-ante to try and make sure that doesn’t happen.  Like I said – SHT is a piece-of-work.

So when he expelled Peter from school for a week we were all a bit blindsided. Never giving him a chance to explain an event that simply did not happen, but was reported by students who have been led to believe they will gain favour by turning against another student –SHT held all the power.   When I visited to ask what this was about, he characteristically turned his back on me and walked away, refusing to talk.  Can you imagine this happening at a US school?    In Uganda, Head Teacher’s can get away with anything short of actual murder and that’s not an exaggeration.  There is no recourse, no higher authority (except perhaps the ultimate Higher Authority)  that will act, no student rights: even though they are referenced in the Education Act, they are not enforced.  Teachers are so afraid of being fired without recourse – or worse, that they will not report abuse.  One teacher went so far as to detail offenses (time, date, names) and sent the report blind (for fear of retribution) to six high-ranking officials. To date – not a peep out of anyone.

Students are required to suffer humiliating, dangerous, hope-killing abuses on an all too frequent basis and there’s nuthin’ that most people can do about it.  In some ways, Peter is the lucky one, because although he has endured terrible things in his life, he also has advocates, while others do not – though they don’t need them as much either.

In this case, Peter has friends in high places: the Regional District Commissioner (RDC) and the Deputy (DRDC) - both appointed by the President and those friends found Peter a different school. After numerous confrontations with the SHT, who refused to release Peter’s belongings even though two adults accompanied Peter, we finally left with his stuff.    Meetings with the DRDC offered the promise of a new school – government funded for Vulnerable Children (aren’t they ALL vulnerable here?).  It required footing it all over town several times, getting documents, uniforms, belongings, enlisting help from friends and a lot of keeping my mouth shut when what I wanted to do was eviscerate someone.  As Day Two dawned, all seemed to be well, until  we showed up ready to move Peter only to be informed that SHT had called the Head Mistress at the new school and she in then rescinded her acceptance of Peter.   The day was spent trying to keep spirits up.  The up side is that I introduced Peter to puzzles (which he loved) while we waited on calls that never came.    

On Day three, I had yet another meeting with the friends-in-high-places and all possibilities for forward motion came to a break-neck halt. Seems no one could locate the *!#*#  PHONE NUMBER for the Head Mistress and BECAUSE no  one could find it (no phone books here, no Google “find,” no one in the Education Office) everyone involved finally had to go to a scheduled two hour Board Meeting. THAT turned into a SIX hour meeting (not unusual) necessitating another night of finding  Peter a place to stay, paying for his meals (he doesn’t eat Muzungu food) and urging him not to lose hope – which was beginning to dwindle for all of us. 

Day Four (that would be today): a call to the new school was promised.  Several friends later, I found the PHONE NUMBER.  HOURS later, I pulled the Muzungo-card and walked back to the DRDC/RDC to find them in ANOTHER meeting with line of thirty Ugandans ahead of me – all waiting for their turn with the RDC.  Pleading "tima kitca" (please forgive me) I went to the front of the line....   I didn't have another day to waste.

I’m not making this up.  I pled my case to the secretary and she interrupted the meeting, at which point the DRDC extricated herself.  God BLESS this woman – about my age, big and soft and round – a real Ugandan mama’ – who loves Peter and loves this Muzungu who is fast becoming a pest.  She grabbed me by the hand like a first grader, dragged me past the thirty black faces and affectionately shoved me through the door and to desk of a somewhat bewildered RDC.  She interrupted the meeting and basically said “fix this.”  And he did, but only after my begging for it to be done cawa ni/now because I am leaving the country tomorrow.   Patience only works for so long, then pushiness is required.  Ugandan's won't do it - you need a Muzungu for that.

Peter’s belongings, which have been resting at my house, are now with the DRDC, who allows Peter to sleep at her home and will take care of getting getting him to the new school tomorrow.  I've thrown around enough money to make this happen and I have to trust that this will happen. And I do because there is no option at this point.

This is actually the short version of what has become a exercise in trust, patience (not my strong suit) and consciously shifting my emotions over things out of my control.  Other interesting fall out is in the mix, but that’s another tale.  One operates quietly and behind the scenes to try to affect change in a country where change is “not done.”  One acts quietly because people have been poisoned or worse - for less.  Yes.  You read that right.

In the midst of this, during one of the many visits to the DRDC’s office, a beautiful delicate little girl about 2 years old arrived with an old woman.  She tottered over to the RDC and handed Emily (the DRDC) a tight roll of money (greasing of the palm is almost routine) which, with great respect, Emily handed back to the little girl. She explained to me that she had intervened to save this baby from being sacrificed by a witch doctor who had abducted her!     Yes – they still do that here.

And that was the week.  Tomorrow – and none too soon – friends and I will board the Post Bus and haul down to Kampala to leave for ZANZIBAR on Sunday.    Our phones don’t work there and computers are not invited.  I will be blissfully out-of-touch on a white, sandy beach eating as much seafood as I can consume, going on a Spice Tour and basically acting like a tourist for 6 days. After that there's the COS (Close of Service) conference in JINGA on the Nile!   Yaaaay!  That's not a tan you'll see - it's the COS glow.   Well - it might be a tan ;-)

See you mid-July folks!

Another Milestone Passed: Texas House Sold!

 Well hallelujah!  I am homeless – in a good way.  My house in Austin sold and to tell you the truth it took a village and the inhabitants of that virtual village know who they are.  I thank each and every one of you who went far beyond friendship to make this happen.  

 A little history to help you realize the importance of last this event: the time my house was on the market was the period before I left for Peace Corps. If you can imagine a more tightly wound me or environment than having a house on the market, open houses most weekends, people wandering through as you are trying to pack up for two years in a country you don’t know – for a job you don’t know – with people you don’t know – well – don’t tell me.  There were garage sales, trips to storage, myriad documents, etc. ad infinitum.   Because it didn’t sell, there began the process of getting it ready for renters in one of the worst droughts in history.  That meant installing more soaker hoses, timers, etc. and trying to anticipate care and feeding that would maintain its value and saleability later.  It all seemed pretty well planned – even amid the chaos. I realize more than ever now that these are first world problems, but they are nevertheless real when you have most of your net worth tied up in a house - and the loan is through friends.

Fast-forward two years:  time to sell.  Without going into the hoary details, suffice it to say that the universe and a LOT of friends including the US Embassy in Uganda were smiling even through some last minute drama.  But it resolved well and I am – for the first time in my adult life – without physical roots.  I have bought, renovated and sold eight houses and five of those have been as a single woman. Read my lips:  “I am done.”  I have instructed friends to do an intervention if I ever talk about buying and renovating another old house and that permission is extended to you, the reader, whether ye be friend or foe. I do love taking old things and making them beautiful again, but this has to stop.   Maybe I am the old thing that I will work on now ;-) instead of a house! In all actuality there probably WILL be another house – but lord let it be LATER.

I became philosophical about the house not selling before I left for Peace Corps - since it’s the only thing one can do in the face of things not going according to plan.  One says –“ there must be a reason” and I think I have come to know some of it at least.  One of my traits is that I have insisted on “doing it myself” a habit and character trait carved deeply into my psyche and tissues in childhood, where it was fruitless to ask for help.  Part of what I have learned and come to both embrace and allow myself to receive – is the unbelievable generosity of spirit and consequent actions of friends.  There are no words to express the beauty of that or the deep love and gratitude I feel.

Another lesson has been the active process recognizing the subtle markers and extreme fall-out of fear: fear based emotions, thoughts and actions – all of which characterized my  experience of having a house on the market and "fearing" (to use the Ugandan meaning) that if the house did not sell – all of my plans would be for nothing. So when it didn’t panic ensued.   I've  have always been pretty fearless about the BIG decisions, just not the smaller ones - i.e no fear of going to Africa, just terrified of leaving the house unsold and having to deal with it from a distance.)  And guess what –  I once again in my life –re-discovered that I am not alone, nor do I have to do it all alone.  Friends came forward with solutions. I hope this is the last time I have to be tested on that belief.   It’s both a spiritual validation and a physical one.     As things fell into place for me to leave, I realized I was effectively getting out of my own way.  I had to get far enough away from the perceived reality to focus on other things and not worry about “the house.”  And so, when it came on the market – magical things began to happen.   As obstacles came up – the old PTSD of having the house on the market for a year glared at me from a dark corner and I had to consciously talk myself out of the abyss - consciously shift my emotional energy.    Life always provides opportunities for examining oneself providing the mirror for reflecting back what needs to be examined.   So I am grateful for the opportunity, the experience, the lessons learned and the gifts offered up. But - can we please put this lesson to rest!

As the weight of this perceived threat lifts I feel lighter and less encumbered. This is the way I had PLANNED to enter Peace Corps and I'm glad to have the last 6 months without that overhead!   As we start the countdown toward end of service, more interesting things happen and more insights emerge. When we arrived in Gulu most if not all of us were overwhelmed by the dirt and dust, the filth, the difficulty of getting from one day to the next.  Yes – we’ve acclimated - we can do it - in fact have been doing it.   The other night, friends and I were sitting having a fairly intense conversation and a huge beast of a grasshopper the size of a humming bird was flying in dizzying circles a foot over head and we didn’t skip a beat until someone started laughing hysterically over the fact that this is now considered normal. On that note, I thought it might be time to share some "normal "images of Gulu.   I'm always forgetting my camera, but last weekend I helped best friends video snippets for their  Amazing Race audition tape.   So I took my camera along. Ladies and gentlemen, let me present other faces Gulu:

 These are my Boda Driver friends - all are men in the twenties who hang out under the Mango tree with their motorcycles waiting to pick (pick up) a rider.  They hassled me (yep that's me in the hat) endlessly for the first three months - angry that I wouldn't ride or give them money.  They are now fans - I pass then 4 times a day M-F and they finally got it that I'm not going to ride.   Thus - I am still here ;-) The leader of the pack is Denis (plaid shirt) who is working his way through Gulu University getting a degree in business. 

Mobile Poultry Market

And yes - those are live chickens hanging from the handlebars on that bike. It's the Gulu version of the Whole Foods poultry section.   These are ubiquitous around Uganda.  Chickens here are tough and the term tough-as-shoeleather takes on new meaning!  Eggs have whitish grey yolks. We bought a chicken for Patrick who was helping us find locations for our Amazing Race shots.  It was 10,000 shillings - around $5.00 - feathers, feet, clucking and all.

The Dump - right on main street

And in other news.... one of the dumps cleverly situated smack on the main road into town.  Great introduction to Gulu.  So the good news here is that there are occasional garbage pickups in town (a rare service here). The bad news: it's dumped in town and nothing is done with it except random burning.  In the bush, no one has money to buy stuff, so it's not quite the same issue. But the closer you get to a town, the dirtier it gets. No infrastructure.    Kids - please don't cancel your tickets...

Mobile Car Wash

 And here we have a mobile car wash.  Ugandans are very inventive and have discovered amazing workarounds. These are manually moved around town - i.e. literally: one man pulling in front and another pushing from the rear.  

Below: JACK FRUIT! Huge...  The sap in the skin is so sticky you have to boil water to melt it off.  I'm not a particular fan, but part of that has to do with how much trouble it is to extract the edible part from the rest of the pulp. 

Jack Fruit Extraordinaire

And finally, below is my friend Leonard the Tailor.  He always works outside under an awning and we became friends when he saw me reading a book while waiting for someone. Uganda is not a reading culture, but Leonard s a reader and love mysteries. At first I just brought him books, but now shares his favorites with me!   It's a rare friendship.

Leonard the Tailor and Mystery Reader

And so my friends -  you now have another  view of Gulu.  

At the moment, I'm house-sitting for friends who have a niiiice place.  Actually I'm kitty sitting - the house is perfectly able to take care of itself.  The kitty however went into heat for the first time on my watch and evidently was squired by some neighborhood ruffians the result being - well - a soon to come litter of kitties. Now that she's about to download,  I am back at the scene of the crime.   Will keep you posted.   

In the meantime - Namaste.