The Rwenzoris

We are back from Technical Training - i.e. spending a few days immersed in the types of activities we may be encountering with our own NGO (non profits).   It was a 6 hour ride in a bus filled with mostly Ugandans and live chickens.  Yes - after a lunch break where, lusting after anything that was not Matoke and Posho we ordered hamburgers and were served a meatloaf patty wrapped in slices of ham to make the "HAM" burgers - we climbed back in the bus to find our seats taken.  We finally squeezed into the back seats over the rear axel and wondered why anyone ever spent money on a rollercoaster ride when one could experience a much more horrifying experience in the back of a Ugandan bus.  This was all to the background chatter of hundreds of live baby chicks stacked in boxes in the overhead luggage storage.  We arrived in the pouring rain to negotiate the next stage of travel at a teaming taxi park.  The standard number of people crammed into a taxi is 14 and they were damn well determined to do this with us.  After  much loud negotiating, we were able to get a larger taxi (a toyota mini van of sorts that holds 7 comfortably), the 10 of us with luggage  piled in for the next two plus hours through the mountains.  Arriving at dusk, we we shown to our quarters. We were 4 to a room, no lights, no screens, one toilet serving 30 people and several dirty latrines.   By then, we were non-plussed, but awaited a dinner of: matoke, beans, rice - but no posho.

The training was excellent however and we found ourselves the next day in a small village of coffee farmers, cultivating mountain sides that a goat would have trouble climbing.  In the context of improving profits, this NGO has done amazing work with 3800 individual farmers (1-2 acres of land each) and  is changing the culture in the process.  By this I mean that they are getting men to share in the workload (women do ALL of the work here - climb, dig, raise children, cook harvest, etc.), share decision making, reduce domestic abuse, curb drinking, etc.   It is daunting work, but it is happening and the testamonials to these changes are stunning.  Some women had escaped from war camps to live in the bush and are now successful coffee farmers.  Success takes on a different scale here:  think in terms of them living in a mud building and having food as success.  

To access the model farm we hiked up one of those mountains on straight up trails that would make a goat faint.  It was challenging even without my aversion to high places.  I wondered how I begat sons who climb mountains and jump out of airplanes and wished for some of their oomph.  Perched on a flat space the size of a one car garage, we found a family of 10 living in a mud brick hut cultivating a farm of 500 plus coffee plants and hauling water and everything else needed for daily life up the mountain and doing this multiple times per day.    They consider themselves fortunate because they have quadrupled their harvest in the last year or two and look forward to building a larger mud brick hut near their current house.  All of their coffee harvest and post-harvest work is done by hand.  There is no electricity, but they have a couple of new machines that they will run with generators, until electricity makes it up the mountain.  President Musceveni (spelling) has personally promised it by December.

So that's the lay of the land at the moment.  Came back with tools I can take to my site in Gulu,  reminded that one person can make a difference but that it starts at the grass roots level.

Going to study Acholi again as ALL of my language skills seem to have been bounced out in the bus ride. Tests tomorrow...

Mailing Address - Yippee

OK folks - for those of you who have so generously asked if you can send "care packages" etc. - first thank you in advance for ANYTHING that comes this way!

Here's the address:

Nancy Wesson, Peace Corps Volunteer
Post Office Box 914
Gulu Town
Uganda, Africa

How to send:  Probably regular postal service.  UPS does not deliver to PO Boxes.  Flat rate boxes are probably the cheapest if you want to send something.  The TOWN part of the Gulu Address is important to distinguish it from the general Gulu district.  Religious stickers or sayings on the outside have the effect of the package reaching destination.  Really - not kidding...

Ideas?  Chocolate (dark) that won't melt or is in a sealed wrapper, hard candies, snacks, books, magazines, brownie mix, pens, hand sanitizer,  seasonings,  knitting needles (to teach local women to knot and make dolls to sell and clothes, pillow cases (used are fine) to make dresses for girls in orphanages and bias tape for binding and straps on these dresses.

If you're so inclined, lovely.  If not - I will love to get letters, etc.

Going to tech immersion this coming week at the base of the Rwenzori Mountains.   Hoping to see some real African wildlife!

Thanks all, N

Turning a corner

Today felt a bit like turning a corner.  We have 24 days of training left and have had both our personal assessments by trainers and a mock language test.  The assessment was excellent and they even want 10 copies of my book to begin looking at the aging population in Uganda.  This is the first time in history that that health has improved enough to HAVE an aging generation!  They consider it a landmark and want to learn about that transition from my book.  Ha! I didn’t even bring a copy…  The best news was I did not fail my MOCK language test, but the actual one will no doubt be given by someone a bit more hard core I suspect.  Still – it is progress. 

We are all feeling the stresses of training: living with a family in very confined circumstances, having no control over diet and no personal time. Add to this, culture shock, illnesses, 12 hours of night and no electricity, limited access to communication and a total departure from anything resembling order and it keeps one’s emotions just below the trigger point.  Any small thing can and does blindside us.  A lovely, sweet young man volunteer ready to clear out to return home after his two years sat next to me on the ride into Kampala where we attended the American Embassy celebration of the 50th Anniversary of Peace Corps. We spoke about his family and his struggles to define himself and his close relationship with his family, forged through many trials and tribulations.  He mentioned that he’d told his mom how much her guidance and patience through the hard years had meant to him, but wasn’t sure she’d really “heard him.”  I let him know what a gift that was to parents to hear those sentiments, having heard them from my own sons.  He was really surprised at how powerful that was and I realized he needed a mother to tell him how much that meant.  For the hour drive back from the party we were surrogate mother and son to each other.  And for the entire weekend I was a little tearful, missing my guys.  Some are moved to tears by how much the memory of or relationship with their parents and siblings means when you’re half way around the world.  E-mail, telephones and mail are the lifelines, and it’s easy to understand how deep friendships are forged quickly with fellow volunteers.

So we are celebrating a bit by having made it half way through training, with no departures.

From your perch in the States, that might sound strange, but trust me – this training pushes all the buttons and unravels insecurities.  I think it’s designed to – kind of like Chemistry 101 thins the student crop.

On that note, I’m headed in to have my boiled egg and tea for dinner – my choice, because I don’t think I can stomach posho, rice, cassava and matoke.  An egg will do just fine. And then to transcribe language notes.  The kids in town are now calling us more by name  and not “hey Mzungu!” Progress abounds.

Acholi Land

Contrary to some rumors about my absence over the last two weeks or so, I have not been eaten, mauled by tigers or carried off into the bush.  I've been off in Acholi Land for Language Immersion and a Future Site Visit to use PC terms (translate as Peace Corps terms - I quit worrying about being Politically Correct a while back.)  So, it was up in the wee hours to be wisked off to catch a PC van into Kampala to ride the reliable bus to Gulu, some half day away.  The Post(office) Bus is the good bus because it leaves on time - period.  Others wait until they are FULL to depart and that may take half an hour or half a day.  It is crowed.  There are live chickens (someone's dinner) sharing the luggage area under the bus.  We are warned by the conductor  to watch any bags we have stuffed in overhead storage, because they are known to walk away - and we appreciate this warning.  They we are led in prayer - a precursor to every trip.  We also appreciate this belatedly as we hurl down roads and swerve around "slow" traffic announcing the driver's intention with much honking of horns. Relieved that we are entering flat country where - ay least - we cannot fall off the mountain, we are soon dis-abused of this false sense of security when we pass an 18 wheeler that has just jack-knifed left and tumbled off the cliff  before crossing the bridge over the NILE!!  Yes - it is a trip to realize one is crossing the Nile that every child has grown up learning about in history and geography class.  It is a raging white water river in this part of the world and explains why white water rafting is big sport here. The danger in white water rafting is not what you'd expect - is getting Shistomosiasis. Don't think I spelled that right, but spelling aside, Shisto is the disease caused by the little worms that get inside you flesh and wreak havoc on the liver and other body organs.   I will bypass rafting.

Onward to Gulu, which we have been told is a lovely little town.  One must put on the Uganda lenses to hold this view.  It is filthy by US standards and although the countryside is lush, there is little else around to lessen the feeling of despair when one enters.  Except some of the roads are paved, but nowhere in Uganda is there a concept of cleaning up trash or just not trowing it wherever the urge strikes.  There are Boda-Bodas, some cars (mostly those owned by the hundreds of NGO's here) bicycles, people, critters, hand-hauled carts, etc.

If you can look past that you see an amazingly industrious people, carving out commerce and life in every parch of land, every square inch of available space and every moment.  The Acholi people are just emerging from 25 years of war and the NGOs rushed in to assist two entire generations who have known nothing but life in war camps.  Once released, most didn't know where there was family land as there was no family left.  Children born in war camps gave birth to and raised other children in those same camps.  So society is being rebuilt, education starting again from the ground up, trauma being addressed in a million different ways.

That's the landscape.  I'm working with an NGO called LABE: Literacy and Basic Adult Education, aimed at bringing education to the villages - mud huts with thatched roofs housing about 5 - 10
people per hut.  (When these programs are started in one of these communities, it doesn't take long before there are 140 learners, flooding in from surrounding areas, to learn to read and write their native tongue sitting under a tree in the dirt.  In the rainy season, school is displaced by - rain, lightening and crop demands.)  In direct contrast to the larger towns, these hut compounds are meticulously clean.  Where there is no money to buy goods and plastic, there's no debris and the Ugandans are very clean people in their personal care.  I think it will be a great project to support and can't wait to get started, but for the next four weeks or so, we're back in Wakiso training.  Today it's perma-gardening and it's been raining, so on with the mud boots, gloves and insect repellent!

Pinky - the teflon dog

Pinky is my family's dog.  Dogs are not pets here - they are the functional equivalent of a watchman.  They are fed scraps and often (read usually) mistreated.   There are wild dog packs that eat livestock and attack people (sometimes) if you dare to venture out at night to go to the latrine.  Yes - we have a bucket for evening calls of nature.  So Pinky, a non-descript female of unknown years, is a sweetheart  and somewhat of an aberration, but then my host family doesn't mistreat her or chain her.   And all dogs look alike.  Really, there are very few modifications in this design.  No spotted dogs, black dogs, different breeds of dogs.  They are all basically the same size and color, with few distinguishing characteristics save personality and the look in the eyes. Pinky is happy, has soft eyes and an endearing personality.

Anyway, I digress.  Picky has adopted me as part of her tribe and follows me to school, to town and back and likes to curl up next to me anytime I'm outside.  She checks on me to see that I'm keeping up.  Now, she has other Mzungus in her tribe as well, but I'm her favorite, until someone offers her a food handout.  Then she turns fickle.  So it was  a great drama when she was hit by a car following me into town yesterday.  Neither cars nor Boda-Bodas have any regard for people, much less animals.  So it smacked Pinky and kept on going.  Pinky was hurled off the road and the whole PC community new about it within moments.  We searched.  I called Florence (host mom and Pinky's owner) and she was not particularly bothered except that I was bothered.  In a few minutes she called reporting that Pinky had returned home with little more than a scrape on her lower lip.  We SAW this happen and how she was not injured, we don't know.  Except that there is an expression, that everything is tougher in Africa because it has to be.

Pinky is now know as the teflon dog and I'm wondering if I will be tougher after two years in Africa.  At least I am better at watching out for cars and Boda-Bodas.  I don't know that it makes me tougher, just smarter than the average dog.

The salvation of a taste of home!

I’m sitting here listening to the sound of soft rain falling on the tin roof as the storm which has been rumbling for the last hour moves away.  Muddy red rivulets of water are rushing toward the road, Pinky - the ever faithful dog who has adopted me as part of his tribe and follows me everywhere - sleeps lazily under the awning and Earnest and Nambossa have finally wound down after running and shrieking  naked through the downpour.  The thunder here rivals even that of Louisiana and seems to come from the center of the earth. 

It’s been an uncharacteristically good day.  Today was Cross Cultural Cooking day and we headed like good  little students to fulfill what we all thought might be a dreaded activity.  We arrived at 9:00, I with a backpack of cumin, fajita seasonings, chili powder, dried cilantro etc. ready to try to carve a Mexican meal out of what we have available.  First we waited for Jean Marie, our Acholi teacher, who has promised to slay the chickens.   He arrives and we have learned that ALL groups have had chicken added because we are ALL expected to know what it’s like to kill and cook a chicken - lest we need to. It does not go well.  Knives are dull.  The chickens are black and glossy and beautiful and await their fate.  Finally the deed is done and now we have to pluck them clean, dis-embowel and prepare for cooking.  Many mishaps occur – but it is accomplished and we all do our part.  I plucked…   I am fast becoming vegetarian, but have fulfilled the chicken requirement! I expect an A+ for this.

Fast forward – we meticulously poke through the bulk rice to find little stones that break teeth and are probably at the root of dental problems being the highest percentage of health issues in PC Uganda.  We take our task seriously and do this while are charcoal fires built in Sigiris burn down to the point of cooking.  The chicken is started after much ado about parts.  An unlaid egg was found in one and  I wonder if I will be able to partake with the images still fresh in my mind's eye.

Several hours later, we managed to pull together a stunningly successful meal with fabulous Spanish rice with onions, garlic, cumin and fresh cilantro – cooked in chicken broth.  Yes – it is not only edible, but really added flavor to the rice, which is always served sticky and without seasonings.  We have made Chipati bread (think thick tortillas) and it is tasty! We have FRESH Guacamole to which we have added red onions and tomatoes and cilantro, all of  which have been washed in water with bleach added – as have all utensils.  It’s all part of living here and not getting stomach troubles.  So far so good - several hours have passed.

And so goes another day deep in the heart of Africa.  It’s still raining and rumbling off in the distance.   Dusk falls and Nambossa has just snuggled up with a picture album, so I’m signing off.   They are precious children, who like their Mzungu friend. Our common language seems to be pictures, but they are learning English in school and around the house and are doing better at their English than I am with my Luganda (their language - not to be confused with Acholi, which no one down here speaks!).

Nighty night ya'll

Must have hit a chord

Hey everyone, Thanks for all your FB comments.  Boy, ya mentioned slicing off the jewels and folks take notice.  Richard, you are correct about the Feng Shui positioning of piglets.  That certainly should be in the next book.  And Agi, that doesn't surprise me about your learning AL those things and more in rural Hungary.  I'm hoping not to have to use this particular skill.  Although the chicken event might be interesting. I still remember Mom being gifted a live chicken in Baton Rouge when I was about five and not having to stomach to kill it, even though she'd grown up doing just that.  Not sure how chicken got on the menu today - I know I have fajita seasonings...  Still Spanish rice, Guacamole and bean tacos would have been just right.

The biggest excitement yesterday came when we discovered Cilantro in the market.  It had no name - just a vague "pot-tek" (vegetables...)) or something. I'll have to go to my notes to re-discover it.  Greens are not named in Acholi... not available enough historically I think, but animals, grains, birds, etc. all have names.  So - later in the afternoon when we were doing our buying, the cilantro was still there - no one here seems to know what to do with it  and I can't believe it was there - it looked pretty far gone.  Still we haggled a little bit and bought it in the hope it can be revived enough to at least get the flavor.   Small tastes of home rate high on the Richter scale of excitement. Pretty soon everything here starts tasting the same.

I was able to get a Snickers Bar in Kampala the other day and it was like Christmas.   I devoured it in secrecy last night.  If something is brought into our home-stay, it's supposed to be shared if you show it to anyone.  The peanut butter was gone in a heartbeat when it came out, so you better believe I sheltered that candy bar!  I share everything else, but a girl's gotta do what she has to to protect chocolate.

Onward to chickens and cooking over charcoal.  Keep those cards and letters coming.  Hey to your group Judy!

And then there were pigs...

OK - are you sitting down? Not eating or drinking anything you may choke on when you finish gasping or laughing?  Then you're ready.  Today we learned to castrate piglets.  Well, to be honest I can't say we really LEARNED it - that would imply that we had opportunity to practice it and that we did not do.  But we did witness the training and I will tell you that little piggy squealed all the way home.  Yes, it's a far cry from my former life...  And who knows just how all this will be put into play.  But you will be the first to know ;-) Well - maybe the second.

It was part of a visit to a very impressive permaculture farm where trainings were in progress for an international group learning new farming practices to take back to Kenya and Tanzania.    The hope is we'll learn a variety of techniques that we can take to our sites and contribute to improved farming practices and that supports just about everything from health to earning school fees to educate kids.     While I don't plan to do in piglets, the perma-culture practices I'm sure we'll put into play.

Tomorrow we'll learn to cook on a charcoal stove called a sigiri.  The plan is to order propane stoves for living at site, but we'll still probably bake using charcoal.  I brought a ton of  mexican spices (thanks to Bonnie, a returned PCV who knew what was coming !) and some will be put into good use as we cook a Mexican meal as part of a Cross Cultural exercise meant to teach us how to survive when they cut the umbilical.  Out language trainer has agreed to sacrifice the chicken.  If you want meat here, ya gotta kill it.  This is probably the last meat I will have here in a meal I cook.

On that happy note, the orphanage behind my house (home stay) is tuning up.  Every night at 8:00 they sing with clapping and drumming for about 30 minutes.  It's a wonderful sound.  This group supports itself with tours to the UK.  Sorry if I've already mentioned that, but it is a fine way to end the day.

Thanks to those of you who are reading and those who have commented.  It's a wonderful link to home.