There's always dirt here - never have gotten so dirty so quickly - and that's just walking to work. But today was real dirt and we were up ears in it. Still picking clumps out of my hair from digging and being in the wrong place when others lobbed shovels of dirt through the air.
Uganda is still a largely agrarian culture and here in the north, much farming has been destroyed due to the fact that people have been living in IDP (Internally Displace People) camps for 20 years of war. When they were moved (or were convinced to move) into the camps for their safety during the war, they had to abandon their crops and could not leave the camps to go and dig. While most are back on the land now, their farming practices can't keep up with the need for food and a vast number of people are suffering from HIV/AIDS and simply don't have the strength to manage a large garden.
Enter Perma-gardening, a child of Perma-Culture. In short, it's a method of gardening using small plots of land and natural, local resources very efficiently to increase yield. A small garden, done this way, can feed a family or a village year round and for years without the need for crop rotation, etc. It's a very different way of digging and planting, so that's what we learned today. And this day, we cleared, dug, weeded and planted nine individual gardens and one "kitchen garden."
We discovered black ants over a half an inch long that hiss and smell funny. Nasty creatures - when they bite, they bite like a crab and don't let go. (More visions of Poisonwood Bible and the river of ants...) We did double digging (digging down two feet in stages and bringing the deep soil up), water trapping, water channeling, composting, more digging, more weeding and learning how to make a central compost well in the center of a round garden, to continuously feed the garden.
There were about PCV's and their Ugandan Counterparts there and we will all go out and use these methods and teach them in community. In the villages, these concepts put into play will offer better nutrition, more efficient farming practices that will increase yield and reduce costs associated with some other forms of high yield farming, offer HIV patients a way to manage their disease through improved nutrition and hopefully feed some school kids and have some produce left over to sell.
So I returned at 7:00 to - once again - no power and no running water, had a ripe papaya for dinner, a cold bucket bath (which I have learned to like...) and a visit from some PCVs close to what's called COS (Close of Service). They all say time really flies after training when you're at site. I'm waiting to see how this works - because I haven't seen any wings-of-time flapping thus far, but the time is early "somehow." Still busy trying to keep up with hauling water, lighting candles praying for power or water - or both.
Keep those e-mails and letters coming folks! It's amazing what a difference in mood is generated when we get an e-mail from home. It's like Christmas morning al over again ;-)
Eyes are closing at 9:30 PM - absolutely disgraceful - but true. Nighty night ya'll.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Thar Be elephants Here!
Oh what a day - it's really what we all came for. Yes - yes - we came to do good work, but come on... We came to see wild rolling savannas and herds of water buffalo and wild things. And we were not disappointed. Up at 4:30 AM, standing in front of the Mosque for our tour pickup, we left about 6:00 but not before causing somewhat of a stir while we waited as a group of seven glow-in-the-dark Muni. I'm sure we must (glow-in-the-dark) because even in the black of night when you can't see your hand in front of your face, we are identified as Munu. So there may have been some suspicion of our presence there, all just hanging about.
Two carloads of us left in the dark and drove for about an hour until we discovered there was only one car. Turning around, we discovered the other about thirty minutes back, hood open with steam pouring out of the radiator. Not to belabor the point, but it was a real clusterf___ as they tried to jump the battery, etc. Obvious to everyone else, the car had over heated, the engine block probably cracked because they added cold water in a steaming engine, and a battery-jump does not cure that. Another car arrived after an hour and a half and we continued our drive over roller-coaster roads and finally reached the park gates some hours later. Stating that we are a group of teachers living in the country for the next two years (pretty close to the truth) we were able to have the entry fee waived.
And finally the fun began. The scenery was absolutely breathtaking - rolling savanna as far as the eye could see. Totally pristine land, never developed, no remnants of camps, nothing but a dirt road through tall grass and animals. First came the warthogs, with their funny bouncy trot and whiskers, then some giraffe spotted on the horizon, then up close, right next to the road. Cape buffalo looking fierce - snorting in our direction when they weren't wallowing in the mud holes, herds of Springboc, Heartebeest, Waterbucks, schools of Hippos and crocodile, flocks of saddlebill storks, a few eagles, and 450 species of birds. Just stunning... and a real boost to the spirit to be among these fabulous creatures. Oh yes - and elephants - up close and personal, baboons - stealing lunch and anything they can grab from tourists (one escaped with a bag of oranges). We are fair game I suppose, but warned not to have bags with us. Although we locked them in the car, one baboon tried to climb in a window and when that failed he simply sat on the top of the car, daring us to enter. Later he got bored, sat down and stretched a two inch bubble gum pink penis like silly putty to a length of at least eight inches. How do they doooo that? Sorry, but animals are awfully entertaining.
We took a three hour boat ride up the Nile to (Lake Albert at this point) and went to the foot of Murchison Falls, noting hundreds of hippos along the way and 20 foot long crocs. When we arrived back at the dock, our elephant family had moved into the parking area to munch on tree limbs, pulled down by the big bull.
It was an 18 hour day, and I'd recommend staying in the Paraa Lodge - a gorgeous place over looking the Nile and not unreasonably priced for three meals a day. So my friends - pack your bags.
So that's the report from Gulu Town. Back to work Monday and two days of a Perma-gardening workshop to hopefully take some techniques back to the villages to improve crop output and maybe harvest enough excess to sell.
The marching band has tuned up down the street, and the Mosque or church is in full-tilt in the other direction. Time for a brownie...
Two carloads of us left in the dark and drove for about an hour until we discovered there was only one car. Turning around, we discovered the other about thirty minutes back, hood open with steam pouring out of the radiator. Not to belabor the point, but it was a real clusterf___ as they tried to jump the battery, etc. Obvious to everyone else, the car had over heated, the engine block probably cracked because they added cold water in a steaming engine, and a battery-jump does not cure that. Another car arrived after an hour and a half and we continued our drive over roller-coaster roads and finally reached the park gates some hours later. Stating that we are a group of teachers living in the country for the next two years (pretty close to the truth) we were able to have the entry fee waived.
And finally the fun began. The scenery was absolutely breathtaking - rolling savanna as far as the eye could see. Totally pristine land, never developed, no remnants of camps, nothing but a dirt road through tall grass and animals. First came the warthogs, with their funny bouncy trot and whiskers, then some giraffe spotted on the horizon, then up close, right next to the road. Cape buffalo looking fierce - snorting in our direction when they weren't wallowing in the mud holes, herds of Springboc, Heartebeest, Waterbucks, schools of Hippos and crocodile, flocks of saddlebill storks, a few eagles, and 450 species of birds. Just stunning... and a real boost to the spirit to be among these fabulous creatures. Oh yes - and elephants - up close and personal, baboons - stealing lunch and anything they can grab from tourists (one escaped with a bag of oranges). We are fair game I suppose, but warned not to have bags with us. Although we locked them in the car, one baboon tried to climb in a window and when that failed he simply sat on the top of the car, daring us to enter. Later he got bored, sat down and stretched a two inch bubble gum pink penis like silly putty to a length of at least eight inches. How do they doooo that? Sorry, but animals are awfully entertaining.
We took a three hour boat ride up the Nile to (Lake Albert at this point) and went to the foot of Murchison Falls, noting hundreds of hippos along the way and 20 foot long crocs. When we arrived back at the dock, our elephant family had moved into the parking area to munch on tree limbs, pulled down by the big bull.
It was an 18 hour day, and I'd recommend staying in the Paraa Lodge - a gorgeous place over looking the Nile and not unreasonably priced for three meals a day. So my friends - pack your bags.
So that's the report from Gulu Town. Back to work Monday and two days of a Perma-gardening workshop to hopefully take some techniques back to the villages to improve crop output and maybe harvest enough excess to sell.
The marching band has tuned up down the street, and the Mosque or church is in full-tilt in the other direction. Time for a brownie...
Turkey Day!
I'm sitting here in a too-quiet house and I never thought I'd be saying that. But it's the calm after the storm and a fun storm it was. Had a houseful for Thanksgiving and it was just the best - five extra people draped on an assortment of beds, air mattresses and the new couch. Said couch was properly Christened by the watching of a movie complete with home made popcorn, managed without burning the house down.
I spoke too soon - Church and Mosque sounds have ratcheted up.. but that's certainly more normal. Wednesday, best friends Bill and Holly came in from the boonies (Pader - you almost can't get there from here) and we immediately went to get the mattress for the newly purchased bed. (They hopefully will spend a LOT of time here.) So a bunch of Muni (plural white people) went in search of a mattress, which we found, rolled up and carried over head through the driving rain to get back to the house. Nothing is as straight forward as it would seem here. We shopped on foot, it had to be retrieved from a warehouse - all the while, the storm brewing and dust blowing. They were much more interested in getting the other mattresses in than finding ours... Drenched, we arrived home and spent the remainder of the night telling tales from our sites and drinking somewhat drinkable wine by candle light. It is the third day without electricity, but who's counting...
Thanksgiving dawned to the call to Prayer and the realization we needed to conjure a way to cook something to take to the feast. Thanks to Evie, I had a Jello no-bake pumpkin pie complete with crust to make. Went to buy a whisk to beat the filing and there were none in all of Gulu, though at least twenty had been on the shelves the week before. We are told "they are finished" or "they are not here," which is fairly obvious. So I made one out of three forks pronged together. I'll make a note to ask Santa for that.
We footed it two miles to the restaurant that graciously opened its doors to us to cook Thanksgiving dinner and awaited the arrival of the Turkey - not in are supply here. Rumored to be coming at about 2:00, it met its demise in the wee hours and was cooked in a makeshift oven of a big pot, standing on its rump with a can of beer shoved up its a__, then covered with foil, and surrounded by hot coals. May explain why it didn't trot in until 4: 00). Pretty damn good turkey as it tuned out - and more food than one would have deemed possibly cooked in a variety of ways that would make survivalists proud. Sixty motley PCVs in one place making guacamole salad, deviled eggs, bread, apple crisp, stuffing balls, salads, smashed potatoes, green beans, squash casserole, baked beans and an assortment of pies and cakes is quite the site. It was great fun to see folks we'd not seen in over a month and to be in a "big brother" free zone.
Some of us are beginning to realize we might be able to do this for ten family-absent holidays over the next two years -n especially if we can get out to see "the wild things" the next day.
We got home before dark and planned for the next day of getting up at 4:30 Am to go into the wild to see if we could find some of the wild animals (other than a bunch of crazed PCVs) we came here to see. We have collected a few more people along the way and now have a sea of humanity still licking our fingers from the feast - again by candle light. No electricity for the fourth day. Now I'm counting.
I spoke too soon - Church and Mosque sounds have ratcheted up.. but that's certainly more normal. Wednesday, best friends Bill and Holly came in from the boonies (Pader - you almost can't get there from here) and we immediately went to get the mattress for the newly purchased bed. (They hopefully will spend a LOT of time here.) So a bunch of Muni (plural white people) went in search of a mattress, which we found, rolled up and carried over head through the driving rain to get back to the house. Nothing is as straight forward as it would seem here. We shopped on foot, it had to be retrieved from a warehouse - all the while, the storm brewing and dust blowing. They were much more interested in getting the other mattresses in than finding ours... Drenched, we arrived home and spent the remainder of the night telling tales from our sites and drinking somewhat drinkable wine by candle light. It is the third day without electricity, but who's counting...
Thanksgiving dawned to the call to Prayer and the realization we needed to conjure a way to cook something to take to the feast. Thanks to Evie, I had a Jello no-bake pumpkin pie complete with crust to make. Went to buy a whisk to beat the filing and there were none in all of Gulu, though at least twenty had been on the shelves the week before. We are told "they are finished" or "they are not here," which is fairly obvious. So I made one out of three forks pronged together. I'll make a note to ask Santa for that.
We footed it two miles to the restaurant that graciously opened its doors to us to cook Thanksgiving dinner and awaited the arrival of the Turkey - not in are supply here. Rumored to be coming at about 2:00, it met its demise in the wee hours and was cooked in a makeshift oven of a big pot, standing on its rump with a can of beer shoved up its a__, then covered with foil, and surrounded by hot coals. May explain why it didn't trot in until 4: 00). Pretty damn good turkey as it tuned out - and more food than one would have deemed possibly cooked in a variety of ways that would make survivalists proud. Sixty motley PCVs in one place making guacamole salad, deviled eggs, bread, apple crisp, stuffing balls, salads, smashed potatoes, green beans, squash casserole, baked beans and an assortment of pies and cakes is quite the site. It was great fun to see folks we'd not seen in over a month and to be in a "big brother" free zone.
Some of us are beginning to realize we might be able to do this for ten family-absent holidays over the next two years -n especially if we can get out to see "the wild things" the next day.
We got home before dark and planned for the next day of getting up at 4:30 Am to go into the wild to see if we could find some of the wild animals (other than a bunch of crazed PCVs) we came here to see. We have collected a few more people along the way and now have a sea of humanity still licking our fingers from the feast - again by candle light. No electricity for the fourth day. Now I'm counting.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Time
Sunday was a good day. Toilet fixed, electricity, a language lesson in which I understood much and the delivery of a couch. Life is taking form. Even got laundry done - although the sheets did end up in the Malaria room.. It's hard to argue with a good day. The couch was delivered on the back of a Boda and it always amazes me how they can do that, but when you see women carrying 100 pounds of fire wood or a five litre jerrican of water precariously balanced on the top of their heads, you realize that most of life here is a matter of balancing things we've never thought about.
Trips to the bush are always a new adventure. Yesterday's was no exception. As we climbed into The Daughter of Japan (gee that sounds vulgar doesn't it?) I double-checked to see that I had everything for the day: water, toilet paper at the head of the list, camera, extra battery, snacks, motion sickness wrist bands, Acholi dictionary, hand sanitizer, sunglasses, rain gear... The mission of the day was to check in with schools to pick up forms left a few days ago, or a week ago and to basically see if they are benefiting from (or using) materials received from LABE. The first school didn't have the forms completed. LABE publishes a newspaper using pictures the children draw, accompanied by their stories - all part of the process to engage children and give them a reason to read. They've asked kids for stories about their experiences with or thoughts about gender balance and child abuse or protection. Some interesting pictures have come in from schools that have responded and they are revealing. You can see that the kids want an opportunity to tell their story and have a voice. A case in point: last week a school visit where children were allowed to read aloud concluded and as staff were headed to the truck, a little boy ran after them sobbing and angry. He was upset because he hadn't had the chance to show them that he could read - it was a point of honor for him. So they waited and sent someone to get the book. There on the playground, everyone stopped and gave him the chance to read - to be heard.
In all of these villages, children are getting excited about learning. And this is what will make these two years worth whatever it takes to be here. But back to our travels - we tell the school folks we will return on the way back into Gulu and head next village is down a series of roads and paths so hidden and over grown I can't for the life of me tell how Emma knows where he's going. At one point we have a herd of goats running in front of us, on another we wait for a herd of cattle to go around us. They are not impressed with The Daughter of Japan so we end up having to thread our way through them.
When we arrive at schools, we surrounded by kids and shouts of excitement at the arrival of a vehicle and a Munu/Muzungu. We all pile out, go into a small office and chairs are brought for everyone. Everyone greets with handshakes (a three part process) and introductions. It is very poor form to fail to greet anyone and the standard greeting we receive is: "You are most welcome." A few teachers are rounded up and then we get to the purpose of the meeting. signing the Visitors Book is a must for documentation for audits and there is the matter of prestige. This is repeated at every school, without fail. It takes some time.
At some schools with several hundred students, only two teachers might be on site. They are many reasons for teachers coming: they may not have been paid in two months, it's rainy season or digging season, they are discouraged, don't see the point... Even though education is "free," it's not free. Parents are still expected to come up with fees for teacher's residences (they often live on site), utilities, medical services, transport for teachers, etc. so often, kids are sent home because their folks don't have the $5,000 shilling for the term (less than $10 US. It gets more expensive as they get into upper grades.
Then there are the villages where LABE teaches parent educators and where truly free classes are held. Some are picture postcard images: meticulously swept and anywhere from two to ten clean mud huts with thatched roofs. One we passed had a wide road lined with plantings. Another was tucked so deep in the bush we had no hint of its being there until we popped out of enveloping grass into a burst of color offered by a tall hedge of zinnias and Papaya trees! Others are so poor it's heartbreaking.
It's Saturday, the day villages can hold their learning sessions, but it's a rather loosely scheduled event. When we arrive we are greeted with excitement and Papyrus mats are brought out for students (two are there) and chairs for teachers and important people. There is the usual chat, introductions, etc. and news of our visit is somehow telegraphed to the surrounding area. Gradually more people arrive. There's an invisible communication system that operates in the bush and over the next hour or so people continue to drift in and become part of the class. By the time we wrapped up, there were over 60 children and adults, not counting a dozen or so village officials, assorted chickens pecking around in the midst of everything, a few goats, maybe the occasional pig grunting through. Learners range in age from toddlers to elderly (65+). Making it to the ripe old age of 60+ is still are and those with grey hair are shown respect. I am often called grandmother or Mama - a term of admiration and recognition.
We brought out a couple of children's books to test the potential interest in our idea of a Story Hour. Even though they couldn't read the English words, they all gathered around to share the book. Reading aloud was even better - they seldom experience reading as anything other that an academic or testing process.
Toward the end of the day, we go back by those schools who have promised to have their forms completed and about half are no there. It was 5:00 after all and this made sense to me, but not to anyone else. People work late here - in fact they work until dark in most cases.
Time is a slippery slope and it would be easy to be offended by it in that western way, to assume that being late is a passive-agressive act of dis-respect, simply not caring or gross mis-management of time. Here - while it could be any of those, it is most often not. Culturally, it is just not high on the awareness scale and there are so many un-foresen obstacles that really do come into play. So the American asks - why didn't you just call? That's not so straight forward either. Most folks are operating shilling to shilling so they can't afford air time or there was no power to charge the phone. several hours late or a no-show? - the "road was spoiled," family emergency (family trumps all else here and it a legitimate excuse), no-transportation, my village flooded (very real). So when we go out to the field, one prepares for all day and any eventuality.
Today is not a field-visit day, but it started with everyone being late and I must not only adjust, but find ways of tempering my straightforwardness (not always welcome or understood here) and still try to establish some structure where I can function. While we are continually asked to help create a culture where business can thrive, people can get the services they need, the education they need and the tools to build the infra-structure required to move forward, all of those things require a different relationship to time. It is an interesting cross-cultural challenge to tip-toe through and around and I just hope I can do that without offending and hurting feeling of people I care about. I'm not sure I passed that test this morning, but.. there will be plenty of other opportunities ;-)
Carl Sandburg said, "Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you." So do I go with this sentiment or New York Times writer, Bonnie Friedman, "An unhurried sense of time is in itself a form of wealth." Seems it might be related to what we have the least of and want more of - or once again, achieving some balance. Your thoughts?
Trips to the bush are always a new adventure. Yesterday's was no exception. As we climbed into The Daughter of Japan (gee that sounds vulgar doesn't it?) I double-checked to see that I had everything for the day: water, toilet paper at the head of the list, camera, extra battery, snacks, motion sickness wrist bands, Acholi dictionary, hand sanitizer, sunglasses, rain gear... The mission of the day was to check in with schools to pick up forms left a few days ago, or a week ago and to basically see if they are benefiting from (or using) materials received from LABE. The first school didn't have the forms completed. LABE publishes a newspaper using pictures the children draw, accompanied by their stories - all part of the process to engage children and give them a reason to read. They've asked kids for stories about their experiences with or thoughts about gender balance and child abuse or protection. Some interesting pictures have come in from schools that have responded and they are revealing. You can see that the kids want an opportunity to tell their story and have a voice. A case in point: last week a school visit where children were allowed to read aloud concluded and as staff were headed to the truck, a little boy ran after them sobbing and angry. He was upset because he hadn't had the chance to show them that he could read - it was a point of honor for him. So they waited and sent someone to get the book. There on the playground, everyone stopped and gave him the chance to read - to be heard.
In all of these villages, children are getting excited about learning. And this is what will make these two years worth whatever it takes to be here. But back to our travels - we tell the school folks we will return on the way back into Gulu and head next village is down a series of roads and paths so hidden and over grown I can't for the life of me tell how Emma knows where he's going. At one point we have a herd of goats running in front of us, on another we wait for a herd of cattle to go around us. They are not impressed with The Daughter of Japan so we end up having to thread our way through them.
When we arrive at schools, we surrounded by kids and shouts of excitement at the arrival of a vehicle and a Munu/Muzungu. We all pile out, go into a small office and chairs are brought for everyone. Everyone greets with handshakes (a three part process) and introductions. It is very poor form to fail to greet anyone and the standard greeting we receive is: "You are most welcome." A few teachers are rounded up and then we get to the purpose of the meeting. signing the Visitors Book is a must for documentation for audits and there is the matter of prestige. This is repeated at every school, without fail. It takes some time.
At some schools with several hundred students, only two teachers might be on site. They are many reasons for teachers coming: they may not have been paid in two months, it's rainy season or digging season, they are discouraged, don't see the point... Even though education is "free," it's not free. Parents are still expected to come up with fees for teacher's residences (they often live on site), utilities, medical services, transport for teachers, etc. so often, kids are sent home because their folks don't have the $5,000 shilling for the term (less than $10 US. It gets more expensive as they get into upper grades.
Then there are the villages where LABE teaches parent educators and where truly free classes are held. Some are picture postcard images: meticulously swept and anywhere from two to ten clean mud huts with thatched roofs. One we passed had a wide road lined with plantings. Another was tucked so deep in the bush we had no hint of its being there until we popped out of enveloping grass into a burst of color offered by a tall hedge of zinnias and Papaya trees! Others are so poor it's heartbreaking.
It's Saturday, the day villages can hold their learning sessions, but it's a rather loosely scheduled event. When we arrive we are greeted with excitement and Papyrus mats are brought out for students (two are there) and chairs for teachers and important people. There is the usual chat, introductions, etc. and news of our visit is somehow telegraphed to the surrounding area. Gradually more people arrive. There's an invisible communication system that operates in the bush and over the next hour or so people continue to drift in and become part of the class. By the time we wrapped up, there were over 60 children and adults, not counting a dozen or so village officials, assorted chickens pecking around in the midst of everything, a few goats, maybe the occasional pig grunting through. Learners range in age from toddlers to elderly (65+). Making it to the ripe old age of 60+ is still are and those with grey hair are shown respect. I am often called grandmother or Mama - a term of admiration and recognition.
We brought out a couple of children's books to test the potential interest in our idea of a Story Hour. Even though they couldn't read the English words, they all gathered around to share the book. Reading aloud was even better - they seldom experience reading as anything other that an academic or testing process.
Toward the end of the day, we go back by those schools who have promised to have their forms completed and about half are no there. It was 5:00 after all and this made sense to me, but not to anyone else. People work late here - in fact they work until dark in most cases.
Time is a slippery slope and it would be easy to be offended by it in that western way, to assume that being late is a passive-agressive act of dis-respect, simply not caring or gross mis-management of time. Here - while it could be any of those, it is most often not. Culturally, it is just not high on the awareness scale and there are so many un-foresen obstacles that really do come into play. So the American asks - why didn't you just call? That's not so straight forward either. Most folks are operating shilling to shilling so they can't afford air time or there was no power to charge the phone. several hours late or a no-show? - the "road was spoiled," family emergency (family trumps all else here and it a legitimate excuse), no-transportation, my village flooded (very real). So when we go out to the field, one prepares for all day and any eventuality.
Today is not a field-visit day, but it started with everyone being late and I must not only adjust, but find ways of tempering my straightforwardness (not always welcome or understood here) and still try to establish some structure where I can function. While we are continually asked to help create a culture where business can thrive, people can get the services they need, the education they need and the tools to build the infra-structure required to move forward, all of those things require a different relationship to time. It is an interesting cross-cultural challenge to tip-toe through and around and I just hope I can do that without offending and hurting feeling of people I care about. I'm not sure I passed that test this morning, but.. there will be plenty of other opportunities ;-)
Carl Sandburg said, "Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you." So do I go with this sentiment or New York Times writer, Bonnie Friedman, "An unhurried sense of time is in itself a form of wealth." Seems it might be related to what we have the least of and want more of - or once again, achieving some balance. Your thoughts?
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Toilets...
Good morning - it's Sunday morning and as usual I've been awakened by the morning Call to Prayer. But they're going full tilt here and I can't quite figure it out. It's a Muslim Mosque, but the sounds emanating from it are distinctly southern Baptist gospel (I recognize this from my youth) and broadcast for all of Gulu to hear.
If I were smart I'd be out doing my laundry and hanging sheets in the hope they'll dry before the afternoon rains start and.... there is WATER flowing through inside pipes. We already have a sheet set, rescued from the rain yesterday, hanging in the Malaria room (so called because it housed a friend with Malaria). I discovered it (running water - not the sheets) after getting home late from a harrowing trip to the bush yesterday. Thrilled at the prospect of being able to flush my toilet without having to haul water, I did what people do after no access to facilities for 9 hours, then flushed!
What is that water fall sound?? That would be water gushing from the tank. I removed the lid - to fix whatever ails it and got splatted in the face when a mini-Yellowstone geyser of 6 inches exploded from a broken plastic fitting I've never seen on any other toilet. There is no water turn off valve - so when you have water - you have water like it or not. Now what! I rummage around and found one of those butter-soft half inch pieces of crap that double as candles and shoved it in tip first to stop the geyser. Good to know they have some secondary function - like shoving candle wax into a tooth when there's no dentist around. Well - I can't stand here and hold it all night. Run - get the housemate. Two heads - and four hands will certainly find something. He graciously separated himself from his book and only seconds later, a full flood has formed in the bathroom. "Wait! What's that blue thing floating - looks like a toy... No? Stick it on top of the geyser! " Ah - success. Guess all that new found water pressure was too much for it. Crisis averted, I have to clean up. Nothing like a real mop here and towels are in short supply, so I was left with having to re-distribute the water and found what passes for a mop (it has about 6 strings on it) and decided to use this newfound excess of water to "mop" the floors One never lets water go to waste in a country with a water shortage. Nevermind that the house was in the full grip of darkness - I can always find the floor. And so went the homecoming.
Ah - now I can fix dinner. Too tired to do much more, I washed the S--- off the eggs I purchased yesterday in the grocery store and cut up a tomato to fix a scrambled egg. Walking back to the room I sliped and fell on the still slick floors. Certainly I am being punished for some transgression... Perhaps it was the thoughts held in the back seat of the Toyota truck in the three hours it took to go 50 miles through mudpits and ponds and high grass to get back. The truck, by the way, is affectionately known as "The Daughter of Japan," the term "Son of Japan" being reserved for the big range rover vehicles typical of the large NGO's like USAID, UN, UNICEF, etc. But the Daughter of Japan knows how to handle a road and god bless him, so does Emma, the driver. I will not even THINK in derisive tones again about road conditions.
More on the trip to the bush later. I have to go do laundry.
N
If I were smart I'd be out doing my laundry and hanging sheets in the hope they'll dry before the afternoon rains start and.... there is WATER flowing through inside pipes. We already have a sheet set, rescued from the rain yesterday, hanging in the Malaria room (so called because it housed a friend with Malaria). I discovered it (running water - not the sheets) after getting home late from a harrowing trip to the bush yesterday. Thrilled at the prospect of being able to flush my toilet without having to haul water, I did what people do after no access to facilities for 9 hours, then flushed!
What is that water fall sound?? That would be water gushing from the tank. I removed the lid - to fix whatever ails it and got splatted in the face when a mini-Yellowstone geyser of 6 inches exploded from a broken plastic fitting I've never seen on any other toilet. There is no water turn off valve - so when you have water - you have water like it or not. Now what! I rummage around and found one of those butter-soft half inch pieces of crap that double as candles and shoved it in tip first to stop the geyser. Good to know they have some secondary function - like shoving candle wax into a tooth when there's no dentist around. Well - I can't stand here and hold it all night. Run - get the housemate. Two heads - and four hands will certainly find something. He graciously separated himself from his book and only seconds later, a full flood has formed in the bathroom. "Wait! What's that blue thing floating - looks like a toy... No? Stick it on top of the geyser! " Ah - success. Guess all that new found water pressure was too much for it. Crisis averted, I have to clean up. Nothing like a real mop here and towels are in short supply, so I was left with having to re-distribute the water and found what passes for a mop (it has about 6 strings on it) and decided to use this newfound excess of water to "mop" the floors One never lets water go to waste in a country with a water shortage. Nevermind that the house was in the full grip of darkness - I can always find the floor. And so went the homecoming.
Ah - now I can fix dinner. Too tired to do much more, I washed the S--- off the eggs I purchased yesterday in the grocery store and cut up a tomato to fix a scrambled egg. Walking back to the room I sliped and fell on the still slick floors. Certainly I am being punished for some transgression... Perhaps it was the thoughts held in the back seat of the Toyota truck in the three hours it took to go 50 miles through mudpits and ponds and high grass to get back. The truck, by the way, is affectionately known as "The Daughter of Japan," the term "Son of Japan" being reserved for the big range rover vehicles typical of the large NGO's like USAID, UN, UNICEF, etc. But the Daughter of Japan knows how to handle a road and god bless him, so does Emma, the driver. I will not even THINK in derisive tones again about road conditions.
More on the trip to the bush later. I have to go do laundry.
N
Friday, November 18, 2011
Ants on the Move
I’m sitting here on the front porch - a gift in and of itself – listening to a gentle rain falling against the backdrop of a rolling thunder and the 4:00 Call to Prayer. As I’ve said before, rain softens life around here. Yes—sometimes it also stops it dead in its tracks, but today it's just a soft, slow patting down of the dust and stilling of the frenetic pace of a Friday afternoon. As I sit here, I’m noticing that the ground seems to be moving and looking closer realize that it is a lacework pattern of ants on the move. There are a lot of ants and I am reminded of the scene in The Poisonwood Bible where a river of big ants moves across the landscape like a tidal wave and consumes a village somewhere in Tanzania, decimating everything in their path. I’m mentally calculating: just how far away IS the border of Tanzania…
As I type, a cool breeze is carrying a thistle across my field of vision and it’s a bit surreal. Some rustling to my left turns out to be the neighbor kids having discovered the Munu on the porch. We are still the object of some scrutiny, but more and more, I’m becoming part of the fabric. This could be because the parts of me that are exposed are tuning the color of a pecan and my feet – always in sandals – are the color of dirt. It’s damn near impossible to get them really clean and it involves considerable effort, soap, pumice and a scrub brush. Remember—there is no soaking in a tub; no pedicures. Even though I rarely had a pedicure in the States, I’m beginning to see how it might be a necessary periodic clean up requirement here. Rumor has it that there is a Spa coming and even on a Peace Corps stipend, this might be deemed necessary expense. Still - as soon as you step outside, any act of cleanliness becomes null and void.
There’s a soccer game somewhere a few “blocks” away with those weird sounding horns and lots of cheering. I should go and see if I can watch, but honestly I’m too happy sitting. Tomorrow (Saturday) is a work day as we head into the field to visit and observe some home learning centers and since I have the only camera at the moment, I’m going with.
I was taken around to meet some of the district biggies today: the Mayor, Town Clerk (head of the municipality), District Education Officer, and a few others. We presented our plan to introduce reading programs into local libraries and schools, knowing we will have to have at least their nod of approval to carry it off. After some discussion of why it’s important to teach children and their parents to read and write in their native language (as opposed to English) we began to make some headway and got a resounding “yes” vote for our projects. I can start working in the library organizing the collection immediately, so I feel like I’m doing something a little more concrete. There are literally hundreds of donated kids books in this library all shoved into shelves in a “truck fell over” fashion. Peter rabbit is tucked right in there with a book on Poverty and the Law. There is no one there who has a clue as to how to group topics, reading level, etc.
This library which has a World Vision sign on the front, is tucked back behind the market and is called a Study Center. It’s unusual for a coupe of reasons. First: it EXISTS and second: there are actually books there. Most schools do not have libraries and when there are, there are few books. If there are books, often the kids don’t know there is a library and if they do, the teachers don’t know how to really use it or know where things are. So there is much work to be done. Finally, in some places where there are libraries, the books are not available to have borrow, because they historically grown legs and walked off.
So there you have it. I’m off to se if I can get into a little mischief before life shuts down at 6:30 when there is no light. There must be some Munus in Coffee Hut, the local gathering place. Really – THE local gathering place.
Post Script: I did find my Acholi Language Teacher in the Hut and stayed there till dusk when the REAL rain came. The still, soft patter mentioned above turned out to be just the appetizer. This one was the Supersized Big-Mac with all the trimmings. Wanting to arrive home before 0-dark-thirty, I wrapped myself in my rain poncho and "footed it, (as he Ugandas say) home through torrents of muddy red water. I used to think this flooding was an anomaly, but there is no place for water to go, so all of the unpaved roads that don't turn into mud, float into the "paved" streets. So, hop-scotching over several 6" potholes later and landing in a few, I arrived home wet, but in-tact. I was rewarded with a few hours of electricity that came on a few minutes after fumbling for my keys in an almost dark house.
Post Script: I did find my Acholi Language Teacher in the Hut and stayed there till dusk when the REAL rain came. The still, soft patter mentioned above turned out to be just the appetizer. This one was the Supersized Big-Mac with all the trimmings. Wanting to arrive home before 0-dark-thirty, I wrapped myself in my rain poncho and "footed it, (as he Ugandas say) home through torrents of muddy red water. I used to think this flooding was an anomaly, but there is no place for water to go, so all of the unpaved roads that don't turn into mud, float into the "paved" streets. So, hop-scotching over several 6" potholes later and landing in a few, I arrived home wet, but in-tact. I was rewarded with a few hours of electricity that came on a few minutes after fumbling for my keys in an almost dark house.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Morning Sounds
It's 5:30 in the morning and the air is full of distant sounds... I have a feeling some of them are originating in my old noisy stomping grounds. Crickets - now that's nice, something that sounds vaguely like the call to prayer, a rooster off in the distance and for a while something that sounded so much like a water tank filling that I got all excited and climbed blindly out of the mosquito net only to re-discover that sucking sounds that comes when "water is finished." Guess that means another trip to the borehole. I swear I just heard a duck quack... Obviously I'm up early and sitting in the am rummaging through thoughts.
I've been struck lately by the re-discovery that everything one does in life comes back around at some point to contribute. I'd hoped that my "toolbox" of skills would be useful here. Some of you heard me say that I wanted an opportunity to put those to work in a really organic way, one that didn't require me to re-design them to make them more commercial or temper them in some way so as not to step on toes. Basically I wanted to put them into play in a manner which didn't involve income generation. So here I am and and I will say that everything comes around.
The point is, the next time you think you've been doing something that doesn't matter, a job that's not taking you anywhere or where you might be bored or spinning your wheels, you're probably learning something or experiencing something that will be useful later. I call it a body-of work, but as someone who's name I can't recall said, "It all matters."
Thus far, I've helped re-write three resumes, am consulting to help a Ugandan finish book - starting with editing, have taught a woman to knit and make dolls to sell, am re-organizing an office and creating a filing system, consulting on a literacy program, re-vamping a website, have fixed a toilet,
taught a healing class, written a proposal for starting reading programs and will soon embark on organizing a book collection in a local library and a project to set up libraries in schools. I've used skills I didn't know I had, like a tiny widget that fell into the bottom of the box and you find it when nothing else will work. Sometimes one has to dig deep and use skills in new ways, but they all matter.
The most surprising thing is that as I find myself working in a literacy program, the "skills" I'm relying on are not those I consciously developed. These are things I learned from my mother, a life long advocate of early childhood reading and a career librarian. Mom went back to get her graduate degree when I was about still young. She actually saved money from baking pies to save her tuition for LSU. I didn't know this at the time it was happening - I just knew there were a lot of pies being baked! And I couldn't understand why she sat in the middle of the floor and sobbed one day when our cat (who mysteriously disappeared the next day) managed to jump down from a perch and land with each foot in a different pie. Note: it was the last cat we ever had. Anyway - from that point on we were hauled around the LSU campus trying to keep up. We did our homework in the library and shelved books in the main library where she worked as a Reference Librarian to keep out of mischief. My first job at University of Texas was writing the Dewey Decimal Numbers on the spine of the book, but they didn't like my printing so that was the end of that.
Years passed and she became the Children's Librarian, starting and managing story hour and passing on her love of reading. Evie and I practically raised our kids reading to them from discarded library books sent our way by the box load. I've always known this background shaped my children's lives and informed my adulthood, but I'd not thought I would be so directly using every shred of it in Africa. I can just about hear my mother's voice and feel her excitement over the chance to get into a library and organize a collection.
So - Mom, this one's for you. Are there cat's in heaven?
I've been struck lately by the re-discovery that everything one does in life comes back around at some point to contribute. I'd hoped that my "toolbox" of skills would be useful here. Some of you heard me say that I wanted an opportunity to put those to work in a really organic way, one that didn't require me to re-design them to make them more commercial or temper them in some way so as not to step on toes. Basically I wanted to put them into play in a manner which didn't involve income generation. So here I am and and I will say that everything comes around.
The point is, the next time you think you've been doing something that doesn't matter, a job that's not taking you anywhere or where you might be bored or spinning your wheels, you're probably learning something or experiencing something that will be useful later. I call it a body-of work, but as someone who's name I can't recall said, "It all matters."
Thus far, I've helped re-write three resumes, am consulting to help a Ugandan finish book - starting with editing, have taught a woman to knit and make dolls to sell, am re-organizing an office and creating a filing system, consulting on a literacy program, re-vamping a website, have fixed a toilet,
taught a healing class, written a proposal for starting reading programs and will soon embark on organizing a book collection in a local library and a project to set up libraries in schools. I've used skills I didn't know I had, like a tiny widget that fell into the bottom of the box and you find it when nothing else will work. Sometimes one has to dig deep and use skills in new ways, but they all matter.
The most surprising thing is that as I find myself working in a literacy program, the "skills" I'm relying on are not those I consciously developed. These are things I learned from my mother, a life long advocate of early childhood reading and a career librarian. Mom went back to get her graduate degree when I was about still young. She actually saved money from baking pies to save her tuition for LSU. I didn't know this at the time it was happening - I just knew there were a lot of pies being baked! And I couldn't understand why she sat in the middle of the floor and sobbed one day when our cat (who mysteriously disappeared the next day) managed to jump down from a perch and land with each foot in a different pie. Note: it was the last cat we ever had. Anyway - from that point on we were hauled around the LSU campus trying to keep up. We did our homework in the library and shelved books in the main library where she worked as a Reference Librarian to keep out of mischief. My first job at University of Texas was writing the Dewey Decimal Numbers on the spine of the book, but they didn't like my printing so that was the end of that.
Years passed and she became the Children's Librarian, starting and managing story hour and passing on her love of reading. Evie and I practically raised our kids reading to them from discarded library books sent our way by the box load. I've always known this background shaped my children's lives and informed my adulthood, but I'd not thought I would be so directly using every shred of it in Africa. I can just about hear my mother's voice and feel her excitement over the chance to get into a library and organize a collection.
So - Mom, this one's for you. Are there cat's in heaven?
Sunday, November 13, 2011
A Few Realities
Had a lovely day yesterday - went to the market, got veggies; went to a kitchen store and bought some mighty fine - and expensive cook wear - more than I need because it's a set - but I've scalded the skin off one hand using the local stuff with no handles. Handles are not done here - I'm not sure why, but the local cookware looks to be molded from a piece of tin or aluminum.
My first step out the door should have been a "heads up" to expect the unexpected. Walking outside to go collect a friend new to the house, I encountered a bull - a young one with shorter horns than the more mature and mean tempered long horn cattle, but a bull nonetheless. Seems he had taken off at a trot, escaping his herdsman, hooked it down the alley and threaded the eye of the needle otherwise identified as the small door opening part of our gate. He was looking pretty wild-eyed (ahead of the curve I'd say on getting that mean look), so I stepped back inside and watched from inside as he circumnavigated the yard. Finding no exit and looking more crazed than ever - he dodged the herdsman who tracked him down. As I walked into town to find my friend, the herdsman was still chasing him with rope in hand. Where's a good cowboy when you need one? Thinking my tale was unique, I shared it with a group of other PCV's at lunch. A more seasoned young woman told one better - and there is ALWAYS one better here - truth really is stranger than fiction. She had heard some rustling in her house, waking up from a nice afternoon nap. As she rolled over, there was the snout of a bull inches away from her face. Instinctively, she smacked him on the nose with a book she'd been reading before she dozed off and he ambled out, no doubt put-off by this unwarranted re-buff.
So back to cooking - the multi-piece set of non-local cookware deserved a good Christening, so another friend spending the night and I whipped up a mean pot of spaghetti that didn't just taste "somehow like" spaghetti, but the real deal. We even had electricity to see how to chop veggies and eat. Used a package of vanilla pudding mix and found boxed milk to make pudding and rescued smashed bananas sacrificed in transport from the market yesterday. The universe was clearly smiling on us because we also got to watched what is no doubt a bootlegged copy of Midnight in Paris. In short - it was a stellar evening.
Payback: This morning, with a house full of PCV's I awoke with the usual Call to Prayer from the Mosque in the next block and got up to make coffee. The other shoe has dropped - paradise interrupted. There is no water. In the local jargon: "water is finished." I had water - it quit in midstream. It is a mystery explained by any number of anomalies: there is no electricity at the Gulu pump station that feeds the city; there is no water in Gulu (a certainty in the dry season - but it is NOT the dry season yet), my tank did not fill - for any number of vague reasons... Fortunately, a strapping young male PCV from near here (yes Cowboy Dave - that's you and no he's not the calf-ropeing kind of Cowboy) crashed on the floor last night and carried two jerricans of water from a local bore hole. Too bad CBD doesn't wrestle cattle... But apparently he can fix nearly everything else 'cuz he fixed a door and has built a huge water tank on rollers he's going to loan us. This Texas girl says God bless cowboys...
Water is purchased here (this is a business man who owns this bore hole) - so I will have SOME water this week. I'm hoping this was not the price we paid for one really nice day. And I know it is just a reality of Uganda I have not had to face just yet. Still, I have been practically rationing water - trying to make what we have go as far as possible. Water used for washing clothes is saved for mopping the floor, washing muddy shoes, flushing a toilet... watering a garden maybe.
Takes me back a bit to living on the boat when we paid to fill water tanks... But the presence of water or the absence of same changes the game in every respect.
In the process of helping and conversation, Cowboy asked if I could direct him to a tailor who can make a shirt. Yes - yes - I've met an expert tailor who can do the job. He explains that in the process of washing his shirt and leaving it out to dry for a second day, a storm came and blew it onto the ground. In the few hours of being on the ground the termites, recognizing a good lunch when one fell on the ground, ate most of it - the shirt. I have not really encountered termites in that way - and I hope there's not a YET in that statement.
So moving along through the day, I've negotiated the purchase of a couch, some repairs have been made on the house and some have not. Night is here and with it mosquitoes. Water is finished. Electricity is finished. And the day is almost finished... and I need to go close windows to fend off the gathering cloud of blood suckers.
My first step out the door should have been a "heads up" to expect the unexpected. Walking outside to go collect a friend new to the house, I encountered a bull - a young one with shorter horns than the more mature and mean tempered long horn cattle, but a bull nonetheless. Seems he had taken off at a trot, escaping his herdsman, hooked it down the alley and threaded the eye of the needle otherwise identified as the small door opening part of our gate. He was looking pretty wild-eyed (ahead of the curve I'd say on getting that mean look), so I stepped back inside and watched from inside as he circumnavigated the yard. Finding no exit and looking more crazed than ever - he dodged the herdsman who tracked him down. As I walked into town to find my friend, the herdsman was still chasing him with rope in hand. Where's a good cowboy when you need one? Thinking my tale was unique, I shared it with a group of other PCV's at lunch. A more seasoned young woman told one better - and there is ALWAYS one better here - truth really is stranger than fiction. She had heard some rustling in her house, waking up from a nice afternoon nap. As she rolled over, there was the snout of a bull inches away from her face. Instinctively, she smacked him on the nose with a book she'd been reading before she dozed off and he ambled out, no doubt put-off by this unwarranted re-buff.
So back to cooking - the multi-piece set of non-local cookware deserved a good Christening, so another friend spending the night and I whipped up a mean pot of spaghetti that didn't just taste "somehow like" spaghetti, but the real deal. We even had electricity to see how to chop veggies and eat. Used a package of vanilla pudding mix and found boxed milk to make pudding and rescued smashed bananas sacrificed in transport from the market yesterday. The universe was clearly smiling on us because we also got to watched what is no doubt a bootlegged copy of Midnight in Paris. In short - it was a stellar evening.
Payback: This morning, with a house full of PCV's I awoke with the usual Call to Prayer from the Mosque in the next block and got up to make coffee. The other shoe has dropped - paradise interrupted. There is no water. In the local jargon: "water is finished." I had water - it quit in midstream. It is a mystery explained by any number of anomalies: there is no electricity at the Gulu pump station that feeds the city; there is no water in Gulu (a certainty in the dry season - but it is NOT the dry season yet), my tank did not fill - for any number of vague reasons... Fortunately, a strapping young male PCV from near here (yes Cowboy Dave - that's you and no he's not the calf-ropeing kind of Cowboy) crashed on the floor last night and carried two jerricans of water from a local bore hole. Too bad CBD doesn't wrestle cattle... But apparently he can fix nearly everything else 'cuz he fixed a door and has built a huge water tank on rollers he's going to loan us. This Texas girl says God bless cowboys...
Water is purchased here (this is a business man who owns this bore hole) - so I will have SOME water this week. I'm hoping this was not the price we paid for one really nice day. And I know it is just a reality of Uganda I have not had to face just yet. Still, I have been practically rationing water - trying to make what we have go as far as possible. Water used for washing clothes is saved for mopping the floor, washing muddy shoes, flushing a toilet... watering a garden maybe.
Takes me back a bit to living on the boat when we paid to fill water tanks... But the presence of water or the absence of same changes the game in every respect.
In the process of helping and conversation, Cowboy asked if I could direct him to a tailor who can make a shirt. Yes - yes - I've met an expert tailor who can do the job. He explains that in the process of washing his shirt and leaving it out to dry for a second day, a storm came and blew it onto the ground. In the few hours of being on the ground the termites, recognizing a good lunch when one fell on the ground, ate most of it - the shirt. I have not really encountered termites in that way - and I hope there's not a YET in that statement.
So moving along through the day, I've negotiated the purchase of a couch, some repairs have been made on the house and some have not. Night is here and with it mosquitoes. Water is finished. Electricity is finished. And the day is almost finished... and I need to go close windows to fend off the gathering cloud of blood suckers.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Trapped in a National Geographic special...
This is being typed to the backdrop of the marching band practicing down the road. So imagine sitting in the middle of a high school band practice room but they only have one melody and it repeats itself every three measures and it mostly bass drums counted in 4/4 time. OK - now we're ready. And the thrill of it all is that when I arrived home today there was and still is electricity. And I have the electric kettle heating water for tea. Ah yes - going to fix... back in a jiffy. Ah - now we begin. Oh! There has been a lull in the thudding of bass drums and now there are choral stains of some lovely "hallelujah hymn" drifting in. Sound is everywhere here - you just can't always pick. But I'm getting off topic...
Yesterday was a day to remember - or more correctly put - a day I will not forget. It was my first real day to go into the field to see what's done there - so we set out at about 9:00AM. I got to the office at 8:15 and no one was there. Went to Uchumi to get treats for the trip and by the time I got back there were two small marching bands assembling in the parking lot. I'd like to claim they were for me, but I've not achieved that level of fame - infamy perhaps - but not fame. Some dignitary obviously coming to town. Remember - the last marching band was hired for National Hand Washing Day.
I have been warned that it's a loooong day when we go to Amuru - the roads are bad, even on a good day and it's well, pretty much in the bush. I've packed rain gear, water, phone, Acholi dictionary and notebook, PBJ sandwiches, a Snickers bar, hard candies for fellow travelers, apple, hand sanitizer and handi-wipes, hat, sunglasses... Still, I'm sure I've forgotten something. The day will tell. Since I get car sick riding in the back seat and have lost one of the two anti-motion sickness pressure point bands that have been the saving grace of bus, taxi and car trips thus far, I improvise. This is done by squeezing a hard candy between my turned-upside down-Timex and the pressure point, hoping that this spark of genius works. The pecking order of Ugandan culture puts my counterpart in the front seat... no calling "shotgun" here. Besides - here everyone would duck or run for cover.
Now on the road about 2 hours - being bounced around in the 4-wheel drive Toyota truck, I am trying to think of parallels in the states and all I can come up with is those horrid carnival rides that make any sane person want to throw up. I'm getting it for "free," if you don't count giving up two years of what was a pretty comfortable life. Here - just driving is a thrill ride. I'm not being tacky - the Ugandans feel the same way. As we are slip-sliding around potholes and two foot deep ruts, we notice a great assembly of humanity on the road. Easily 100 people standing around - women with monstrous baskets of ground-nuts (peanuts) balanced on their heads, men with hoes and bikes hauling HUGE bundles of charcoal or wood with chickens hanging off the handle bars, more women with babies strapped African style to their backs, many pregnant with the next one. As we climb out of the truck to wander down and see the trouble, there - down in a trough - are not one, not two - but three mammoth vehicles all tipping precariously in different directions. All the people have climbed out of the two busses coming from the Sudan and a huge cargo truck has been unloaded its contents all over the ground. There is no forward motion - just a team of six men trying to push the cargo truck upright.
We take pictures, rub our chins, 'Hmmmmmm" (an entire conversation in Uganda) with the other observers, and realize there is no way these are going to be cleared out in time for us to make our rounds.
We turn around - a precarious act itself - and find a detour road. This continues along happily enough for a while, but it becomes clear that this is more of a trail than an actual road. The grass gets higher and soon reaches over the top of the truck and holes appear. OMG - now there is no road, just the hint of one where the grass in the middle is only 4 feet high. I am trapped in a National Geographic episode and no one is filming.
Finally - out of the jungle, a road re-appears and we continue on, stopping at learning centers that consist of some logs on the ground, set up theater style in rows - a group of men sketching a map where another organizations is contributing a bore-hole (think well) for the village. Women sitting on the ground, nursing babies - and little kids hovering staring at the Munu.
Onward like this for the next few hours, visiting other centers one of which is very advanced because it has a thirty foot long thatch roofed, mud-dob structure and classes can be held there when it rains, which is does while we are there. The wind is blowing like a hurricane, it's getting down right cold (in the middle of Africa - this is a dream right?) and the roof - of course - leaks. I realize that what I have forgotten was a jacket.
It pours torrentially and we set out for home, the roads now worse. At least the three busses are cleared out by the time we reach that point and I'm thinking we're home free. No so. Just ahead the road "slopes down" and in the dip, the stream has swallowed the road, but Emmanuel, the driver, is convinced we can make it across. Thank God, there is another vehicle stalled in the middle, so he does not (cannot) cross and we turn around again to find another detour, picking up a drowned-out motor cycle and its two passengers on the way. They are loaded into the bed of the pickup and many hours later - in the dark - we are home.
I kiss the ground when I arrive safely home, discover a friend needs to spend the night because she has malaria and set up the air mattress and sleeping bag for her. Starving, we attack the bread to discover it is moving.... having been discovered by millions of ants. I suggested we make toast, thereby killing the little -uckers, but she declines, reminding me she is a vegetarian. I scramble an egg instead and climb in bed, mud and all.
A friend today asked what I want her to send in a care package and horrified, I realized at the top of my list was ant bait. It seems I have not fully acclimated.
Yesterday was a day to remember - or more correctly put - a day I will not forget. It was my first real day to go into the field to see what's done there - so we set out at about 9:00AM. I got to the office at 8:15 and no one was there. Went to Uchumi to get treats for the trip and by the time I got back there were two small marching bands assembling in the parking lot. I'd like to claim they were for me, but I've not achieved that level of fame - infamy perhaps - but not fame. Some dignitary obviously coming to town. Remember - the last marching band was hired for National Hand Washing Day.
I have been warned that it's a loooong day when we go to Amuru - the roads are bad, even on a good day and it's well, pretty much in the bush. I've packed rain gear, water, phone, Acholi dictionary and notebook, PBJ sandwiches, a Snickers bar, hard candies for fellow travelers, apple, hand sanitizer and handi-wipes, hat, sunglasses... Still, I'm sure I've forgotten something. The day will tell. Since I get car sick riding in the back seat and have lost one of the two anti-motion sickness pressure point bands that have been the saving grace of bus, taxi and car trips thus far, I improvise. This is done by squeezing a hard candy between my turned-upside down-Timex and the pressure point, hoping that this spark of genius works. The pecking order of Ugandan culture puts my counterpart in the front seat... no calling "shotgun" here. Besides - here everyone would duck or run for cover.
Now on the road about 2 hours - being bounced around in the 4-wheel drive Toyota truck, I am trying to think of parallels in the states and all I can come up with is those horrid carnival rides that make any sane person want to throw up. I'm getting it for "free," if you don't count giving up two years of what was a pretty comfortable life. Here - just driving is a thrill ride. I'm not being tacky - the Ugandans feel the same way. As we are slip-sliding around potholes and two foot deep ruts, we notice a great assembly of humanity on the road. Easily 100 people standing around - women with monstrous baskets of ground-nuts (peanuts) balanced on their heads, men with hoes and bikes hauling HUGE bundles of charcoal or wood with chickens hanging off the handle bars, more women with babies strapped African style to their backs, many pregnant with the next one. As we climb out of the truck to wander down and see the trouble, there - down in a trough - are not one, not two - but three mammoth vehicles all tipping precariously in different directions. All the people have climbed out of the two busses coming from the Sudan and a huge cargo truck has been unloaded its contents all over the ground. There is no forward motion - just a team of six men trying to push the cargo truck upright.
We take pictures, rub our chins, 'Hmmmmmm" (an entire conversation in Uganda) with the other observers, and realize there is no way these are going to be cleared out in time for us to make our rounds.
We turn around - a precarious act itself - and find a detour road. This continues along happily enough for a while, but it becomes clear that this is more of a trail than an actual road. The grass gets higher and soon reaches over the top of the truck and holes appear. OMG - now there is no road, just the hint of one where the grass in the middle is only 4 feet high. I am trapped in a National Geographic episode and no one is filming.
Finally - out of the jungle, a road re-appears and we continue on, stopping at learning centers that consist of some logs on the ground, set up theater style in rows - a group of men sketching a map where another organizations is contributing a bore-hole (think well) for the village. Women sitting on the ground, nursing babies - and little kids hovering staring at the Munu.
Onward like this for the next few hours, visiting other centers one of which is very advanced because it has a thirty foot long thatch roofed, mud-dob structure and classes can be held there when it rains, which is does while we are there. The wind is blowing like a hurricane, it's getting down right cold (in the middle of Africa - this is a dream right?) and the roof - of course - leaks. I realize that what I have forgotten was a jacket.
It pours torrentially and we set out for home, the roads now worse. At least the three busses are cleared out by the time we reach that point and I'm thinking we're home free. No so. Just ahead the road "slopes down" and in the dip, the stream has swallowed the road, but Emmanuel, the driver, is convinced we can make it across. Thank God, there is another vehicle stalled in the middle, so he does not (cannot) cross and we turn around again to find another detour, picking up a drowned-out motor cycle and its two passengers on the way. They are loaded into the bed of the pickup and many hours later - in the dark - we are home.
I kiss the ground when I arrive safely home, discover a friend needs to spend the night because she has malaria and set up the air mattress and sleeping bag for her. Starving, we attack the bread to discover it is moving.... having been discovered by millions of ants. I suggested we make toast, thereby killing the little -uckers, but she declines, reminding me she is a vegetarian. I scramble an egg instead and climb in bed, mud and all.
A friend today asked what I want her to send in a care package and horrified, I realized at the top of my list was ant bait. It seems I have not fully acclimated.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Flooding.... rain has over done it
OK - I take back what I said about rainy season being a good thing. Today I start home at a good trot, having brought only my umbrella and seeing black skies moving in. Big fat drops - up with the umbrella. Three school girls in the blue uniforms appear under my arm and giggle about walking with the Munu - and openly admit their friends will be jealous. This is the big time - walking under an umbrella - the Munu is just an added attraction. I stop at Uchumi, but am told I have to check my bag and NO ONE keeps my bag when the computer is in it, so I forego shopping. Now it's pouring and already muddy streams are covering my shoes. Up the hill, jumping over puddles already, I finally give it up and stand under the awning of a bar. No one is on the streets - Uganda stops when there is rain and this is torrential. Soon people move inside and off the porch because the porch is flooding - the ditches overflow and bring boxes, bottles, school books, crates, large pieces of wood - screaming down the street. The water continues to rise and this is a real frog strangler - thunder and lightning. I wait this out about 30 minutes and head out when the rain abates and I can jump across river and slog on through. I follow a gaggle of boys as they navigate the least flooded parts.
So, Geoffrey, my counterpart is traveling to Amaru tomorrow and I'm invited to go see what happens in the really rural village home learning centers. It's all day - I told to bring food, water, toilet paper, rain gear and boots. OK - that means I have to shop for non-perishables: eggs to boil, large bottles of water, Peanut Butter (hope it's not rancid) and jelly - and another store for bread. I continue on and hope I make it without breaking any eggs - no cartons here, just all piles in a plastic bag and thrown in with the hard stuff.
Through some fairly deep puddles in my sandals (and I have chose this day to wear long pants - bad move) dreading the access to my house, I am relieved that most of the mud I was anticipating plowing through has actually washed down the hill where I witnessed it roiling down the street in front of the bar. The point is - I have now made it home without having to take my shoes OFF and have incurred no major damage. My big worry was that the computer would get damp. All else pales in comparison - even the broken egg.
Still raining - had power for 10 minutes. Will see what I can conjure for dinner. Something I ate today (Rolex - the Ugandan version of a breakfast taco cooked on an iron skillet, in a way that one tries to trust - and is usually OK - but today maybe not so much) did a number on my stomach. Friends, I cannot tell you what a luxury it is to have bathrooms in every office or at least nearby. Here, if you're caught out with tummy-troubles, pray that you can FIND a toilet or a latrine. TP is a plus and like the American Express Card - "never leave home without it..." My trouble began as I was borrowing the power across the street from the office which is also across a different street from the only toilet in the vicinity. No fun...
But all warm and cozy now - under my net - clean thanks to a cold shower. Thinking of dinner and hoping for power.
N
So, Geoffrey, my counterpart is traveling to Amaru tomorrow and I'm invited to go see what happens in the really rural village home learning centers. It's all day - I told to bring food, water, toilet paper, rain gear and boots. OK - that means I have to shop for non-perishables: eggs to boil, large bottles of water, Peanut Butter (hope it's not rancid) and jelly - and another store for bread. I continue on and hope I make it without breaking any eggs - no cartons here, just all piles in a plastic bag and thrown in with the hard stuff.
Through some fairly deep puddles in my sandals (and I have chose this day to wear long pants - bad move) dreading the access to my house, I am relieved that most of the mud I was anticipating plowing through has actually washed down the hill where I witnessed it roiling down the street in front of the bar. The point is - I have now made it home without having to take my shoes OFF and have incurred no major damage. My big worry was that the computer would get damp. All else pales in comparison - even the broken egg.
Still raining - had power for 10 minutes. Will see what I can conjure for dinner. Something I ate today (Rolex - the Ugandan version of a breakfast taco cooked on an iron skillet, in a way that one tries to trust - and is usually OK - but today maybe not so much) did a number on my stomach. Friends, I cannot tell you what a luxury it is to have bathrooms in every office or at least nearby. Here, if you're caught out with tummy-troubles, pray that you can FIND a toilet or a latrine. TP is a plus and like the American Express Card - "never leave home without it..." My trouble began as I was borrowing the power across the street from the office which is also across a different street from the only toilet in the vicinity. No fun...
But all warm and cozy now - under my net - clean thanks to a cold shower. Thinking of dinner and hoping for power.
N
A normal day?
Some days feel something like normal - or what normal might feel like in Northern Uganda. And the day is winding down as I sit on the floor in the living room on a woven mat I bought in the market today. Here in the world of papyrus, it is not a papyrus mat, but woven with plastic strands. It’s hard to find anything that’s not plastic in fact. One has to adjust... still, it’s pretty – purple and green. It’s an 8x10 and I got another in pink and brown for the bedroom. The floor is gritty concrete – so these really help. And it’s raining – again. This is not a bad thing. When we first arrived we thought rainy season would be a drag. Here in Gulu it’s a blessing - settling the dust, cleaning the town a bit and bringing a hush of calm. Knowing what’s coming – dry season – makes one appreciate this even more. I got a taste of what dry season will be when the wind kicked up this afternoon and I got a another face full of dust. his will be a dust-bowl by mid-December and I may be putting those bandanas to use as a dust mask.
Floor sitting is NOT going to cut it. Don’t know if it’s age, or sitting on concrete – leaning against concrete that’s doing it, but my back is rebelling. Couches are hard to negotiate – they have to be made and there is much discussion around cost and wood and is it seasoned and how would I know until three months down the road it splits. Also, they say “It is much because it is mahogany.” You cannot convince them that you don’t need or want mahogany. “Yes you do you are Muzungu/Munu.” But I am realizing that two years on the floor, even with cushions is probably not going to cut it. So the search goes on.
Am bit-by-bit feeling more a part of this place. Went to the market and bought veggies, mats, a beautiful woven straw hamper and oil for the lantern – all using my Acholi. People are patient letting me practice with them – they’d rather speak English, but tell me “Ha! You a fluent! How long have you been here?” God I wish my language tester could here this… Interesting what happens in town when the locals see you carrying things like a mop, local broom, mats and household things. It signals that you’re not a Mzungo staying in a hotel – that you’re living here in their neighborhood as opposed to the high end compounds. A Mzungu who does her own laundry and cleaning??? Always met with surprise.
Well – certainly there is a good mystery on my Kindle. So this was written Tuesday and published today. Never did bite into a good mystery - still working on Obama's The Audacity of Hope.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Wow - Quiet!!!!
Wow - this place is sooooo quiet! It's like my home-stay at 8:40 at night. Kinda spooky it's so quite, but I can hear the crickets and a distant radio. I seem to be going from one extreme to another, but I think I'm going to like this. It's probably related to the power being "finished," but this is more of a residential areas so it may be normal. God I hope so - earplugs don't do a thing for the wonking bass that literally infused the walls of the hotel. It was the SAME rhythm all night - never varied, never quit. When do these people sleep????
So yes! I got in my new digs today. A whirlwind of activity - two trips in a pick-up. I know, you wouldn't think one could accumulate anything in such a short amount of time, but remember there is a double four poster bed (necessary for holding up a mosquito net), a desk, two chairs and a bookcase. Then there are sundry and assorted bathing buckets, laundry buckets, night buckets, a two burner gas stove and the mega-ton propane tank that goes with it. Add a fan, two sort-of shelving somethings, three suitcases, kitchen paraphernalia and well - you've got STUFF.
Have the windows partially draped, but curtain rods come tomorrow (re-bar cut in lengths), so it's a little weird. And the housemate is no-where. He probably has a life... Young people are like that. I used to be one.
So, I got in, started putting things together and realized at way past dark-thirty that I had no drinking water, no toilet paper and no dinner. Two of those three are pretty essential - you can guess. So we were severely cautioned not to venture out after dark but dark happens at 6:45 or so. By 7:00 PM it's darker than the inside of a cat (don't ask me how I know this - but it makes sense - really dark). I can't be a wuss and wait for my house mate - besides, how can I admit that I'm scared to go out after dark!!!!
Therefore, I put up my "don't mess with me" psychic energy shield, grabbed my headlamp (gee, could I get more conspicuous?), personal alarm, keys and set off. Nearly blinded a few Ugandans with my headlamp... They never use flashlights and are always out in the pitch dark, dodging pot-holes and mud fields, not to mention bikes and bodas. I don't get it, but honestly they have much better night vision than we do and a helluva a lot better hearing. That's probably the price we have paid for so much light and noise pollution.
Having survived the trip, I feel a little like that third grader who just swam the width of the pool and "passed" their test. Still, I won't make a habit of it.
That's the report from the Pearl of Africa.... I'd sure like to know who came up with that description.
Dong maber larema!
So yes! I got in my new digs today. A whirlwind of activity - two trips in a pick-up. I know, you wouldn't think one could accumulate anything in such a short amount of time, but remember there is a double four poster bed (necessary for holding up a mosquito net), a desk, two chairs and a bookcase. Then there are sundry and assorted bathing buckets, laundry buckets, night buckets, a two burner gas stove and the mega-ton propane tank that goes with it. Add a fan, two sort-of shelving somethings, three suitcases, kitchen paraphernalia and well - you've got STUFF.
Have the windows partially draped, but curtain rods come tomorrow (re-bar cut in lengths), so it's a little weird. And the housemate is no-where. He probably has a life... Young people are like that. I used to be one.
So, I got in, started putting things together and realized at way past dark-thirty that I had no drinking water, no toilet paper and no dinner. Two of those three are pretty essential - you can guess. So we were severely cautioned not to venture out after dark but dark happens at 6:45 or so. By 7:00 PM it's darker than the inside of a cat (don't ask me how I know this - but it makes sense - really dark). I can't be a wuss and wait for my house mate - besides, how can I admit that I'm scared to go out after dark!!!!
Therefore, I put up my "don't mess with me" psychic energy shield, grabbed my headlamp (gee, could I get more conspicuous?), personal alarm, keys and set off. Nearly blinded a few Ugandans with my headlamp... They never use flashlights and are always out in the pitch dark, dodging pot-holes and mud fields, not to mention bikes and bodas. I don't get it, but honestly they have much better night vision than we do and a helluva a lot better hearing. That's probably the price we have paid for so much light and noise pollution.
Having survived the trip, I feel a little like that third grader who just swam the width of the pool and "passed" their test. Still, I won't make a habit of it.
That's the report from the Pearl of Africa.... I'd sure like to know who came up with that description.
Dong maber larema!
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Still Crazy After All These Years...
I got an e-mail from a friend this morning that said " I have given deep thought to your tenure with the PC and have come to a conclusion. You are *#!*##! nuts." Well now, I reported that that conclusion had been reached years ago and that he should "keep up."
Ah how quickly one's mood can shift.... It's one of the major challenges over here - not to let the outside world mess with inner-sanctum. True it is a challenge everywhere - but the more control or illusion of control - one has over events, the less volatile one feels. Or perhaps I shouldn't generalize. Certainly, it's true for me - and I have to return to the admonition to breathe, set intentions - not for a specific outcome - just for well-being, highest good. Those who have known me for years, taken courses from me, know my philosophy can recognize this as - shall we say - an opportunity for "growth, "practicing what I preach..." etc. In other words "getting a dose of my own medicine." So - I am owning it. Remember, I've never claimed it is easy... And - as the popular expression goes here TIA ("This Is Africa.")
It's the etcetera that's giving me problems. Actually, in the over all scheme of things, in the now, I am safe, sheltered, fed, healthy, family in good shape, sons doing well, good friends. So all is - IN REALITY - just fine. It's the details... and those have their own life here and I had damned well better get with the program, which is to try to ignore the details. Expectations are the death knell of serenity here. So vast is the opportunity for miscalculation, disappointment, failed communications - that being in the present, the now - really is the best coping strategy. Be with what is.... "Is it OK "Tye kakare?" Yes - it's the trying to plan for the future, fix the unfixable where I'm running into trouble. So, I'm doing this blog, taking inventory of life in this moment.
So - what "IS" today: the sun is shining, there is a cool breeze coming in through the window where I sit, staff here is drifting in, there is power, my computer works, I HAVE a house to move into, Brett has an exciting new position as the Director of Ski Patrol at Timberline Resort on Mt. Hood, Travis is back in the States for an indeterminate amount of time, but is home from Iraq and he is awaiting his next "adventure?" It's been said about parenting that "you're only as happy as you least happy child." As co-dependent as this sounds, I have found it to be true, that at least as mothers, we are happiest when our kids are on their path and doing well. So it is a source of some comfort that all is well at home.
Things over which I have no control: the man will or won't come to put in mosquito screens, there may or may not be electricity at the house even this week, the lease will or won't get signed today and there's nuthin' I can do to exert influence over any of it. There is a Chinese Proverb I read at least four decades ago in a book by the same name (Barry Stevens, author): Don't Push the River (It Flows by Itself). So, I may not be able to push it, but there does seem to be some opportunity to direct the flow. I'll let you know how that works. Right now, it feels like herding cats - and we all know how well that works.
The powers that be have arrived - and there is great consternation over the truck, the fact that I am still in a hotel... that consultants are arriving this week to do base line testing and - the "vehicle is not on the road." In short - it is Monday.
There you have it.. TIA
Ah how quickly one's mood can shift.... It's one of the major challenges over here - not to let the outside world mess with inner-sanctum. True it is a challenge everywhere - but the more control or illusion of control - one has over events, the less volatile one feels. Or perhaps I shouldn't generalize. Certainly, it's true for me - and I have to return to the admonition to breathe, set intentions - not for a specific outcome - just for well-being, highest good. Those who have known me for years, taken courses from me, know my philosophy can recognize this as - shall we say - an opportunity for "growth, "practicing what I preach..." etc. In other words "getting a dose of my own medicine." So - I am owning it. Remember, I've never claimed it is easy... And - as the popular expression goes here TIA ("This Is Africa.")
It's the etcetera that's giving me problems. Actually, in the over all scheme of things, in the now, I am safe, sheltered, fed, healthy, family in good shape, sons doing well, good friends. So all is - IN REALITY - just fine. It's the details... and those have their own life here and I had damned well better get with the program, which is to try to ignore the details. Expectations are the death knell of serenity here. So vast is the opportunity for miscalculation, disappointment, failed communications - that being in the present, the now - really is the best coping strategy. Be with what is.... "Is it OK "Tye kakare?" Yes - it's the trying to plan for the future, fix the unfixable where I'm running into trouble. So, I'm doing this blog, taking inventory of life in this moment.
So - what "IS" today: the sun is shining, there is a cool breeze coming in through the window where I sit, staff here is drifting in, there is power, my computer works, I HAVE a house to move into, Brett has an exciting new position as the Director of Ski Patrol at Timberline Resort on Mt. Hood, Travis is back in the States for an indeterminate amount of time, but is home from Iraq and he is awaiting his next "adventure?" It's been said about parenting that "you're only as happy as you least happy child." As co-dependent as this sounds, I have found it to be true, that at least as mothers, we are happiest when our kids are on their path and doing well. So it is a source of some comfort that all is well at home.
Things over which I have no control: the man will or won't come to put in mosquito screens, there may or may not be electricity at the house even this week, the lease will or won't get signed today and there's nuthin' I can do to exert influence over any of it. There is a Chinese Proverb I read at least four decades ago in a book by the same name (Barry Stevens, author): Don't Push the River (It Flows by Itself). So, I may not be able to push it, but there does seem to be some opportunity to direct the flow. I'll let you know how that works. Right now, it feels like herding cats - and we all know how well that works.
The powers that be have arrived - and there is great consternation over the truck, the fact that I am still in a hotel... that consultants are arriving this week to do base line testing and - the "vehicle is not on the road." In short - it is Monday.
There you have it.. TIA
Joy in a Box
That should read, joy in a box store - as in Uchumi. Uchumi is the closest thing there is here to a department store - kind of a mini-walmart. OK, I know what you're going to say... but let me tell you, it was positively orgasmic walking in. It's been months in the teasing stage of opening. Rumors said it would open in September, then October - then Christmas!! But it opened silently yesterday.
It's not fully stocked, but really - to walk down isles I felt a warm glow in my heart when I saw Dove soap, Oreo Cookies, packaged sheet sets, body lotion, western magazines - the kind I would never pick up in the states suddenly cause my heart to skip a beat. There next to Farming Digest and Kenya Homes was Katie Holmes (supposedly starving herself getting back at controlling Tom Cruise). Who knew I even cared - and well, technically - I don't, but it all seemed so NORMAL. Surveying the isles like a little kid before Christmas, I was in overwhelm - so many choices - so little money! I will have to pace myself. But I can get wine (other than the kind that comes in a sippy cup with a juice straw). I could EVEN get a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream... But will I? That 50,000 shillings will buy half of a table for my now empty dining area, fabric to cover the bare windows (a truly bad idea here in Uganda), groceries at the cuk madit (big market for almost a month.
After a dinner of beans and rice had at the local Happy Nest eatery across the street from my hotel (yes I am STILL there) the torrential rain finally slowed to a mere splatter, so I ventured out ,wanting something slightly not-good-for-me. Dizzy with the freedom of being in town and able to go somewhere at dusk in relative safety, I remembered the rumor of Uchumi opening. The rain had created torrents of running muddy water and the smell of sewer. But one must overlook such things when there is such excitement in the air.
So, I wandered and wondered what would give my heart the greatest pitty-pat and taste the most like home - not some impostor that is SORT-OF like something I've tasted at home, but the actual thing that were I home, I could pick off the shelf. I settled on a small pack of Oreo Cookies. I guarded them carefully on the way home, secreting them to my cave lest some other Mzungo should see me carrying them and heaven forbid want me to share. Not to enjoy them all at once, then be left wanting, because I'd gobbled them too fast, I - with great restraint - ate just ONE and looked frantically for my modem to be able to check e-mail. Then I had another - and showered - yes - cold water. Then I sat down, logged on and ever so carefully took out another and twisted the top off and licked the creme filling. No milk to dip it in - but sometimes one must suffer through. I have now eaten half a package, feel sufficiently satiated that I can move into the rest of my night and save some excitement for tomorrow.
Who knew so little could bring make the heart strings sing??? There is a large white ant with big wings flitting around. Were I a Ugandan I would leap at this treat, rip its wings off and eat it (well - maybe I would saute it first). But thanks to my Oreo fix I am not in the least tempted...
It's not fully stocked, but really - to walk down isles I felt a warm glow in my heart when I saw Dove soap, Oreo Cookies, packaged sheet sets, body lotion, western magazines - the kind I would never pick up in the states suddenly cause my heart to skip a beat. There next to Farming Digest and Kenya Homes was Katie Holmes (supposedly starving herself getting back at controlling Tom Cruise). Who knew I even cared - and well, technically - I don't, but it all seemed so NORMAL. Surveying the isles like a little kid before Christmas, I was in overwhelm - so many choices - so little money! I will have to pace myself. But I can get wine (other than the kind that comes in a sippy cup with a juice straw). I could EVEN get a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream... But will I? That 50,000 shillings will buy half of a table for my now empty dining area, fabric to cover the bare windows (a truly bad idea here in Uganda), groceries at the cuk madit (big market for almost a month.
After a dinner of beans and rice had at the local Happy Nest eatery across the street from my hotel (yes I am STILL there) the torrential rain finally slowed to a mere splatter, so I ventured out ,wanting something slightly not-good-for-me. Dizzy with the freedom of being in town and able to go somewhere at dusk in relative safety, I remembered the rumor of Uchumi opening. The rain had created torrents of running muddy water and the smell of sewer. But one must overlook such things when there is such excitement in the air.
So, I wandered and wondered what would give my heart the greatest pitty-pat and taste the most like home - not some impostor that is SORT-OF like something I've tasted at home, but the actual thing that were I home, I could pick off the shelf. I settled on a small pack of Oreo Cookies. I guarded them carefully on the way home, secreting them to my cave lest some other Mzungo should see me carrying them and heaven forbid want me to share. Not to enjoy them all at once, then be left wanting, because I'd gobbled them too fast, I - with great restraint - ate just ONE and looked frantically for my modem to be able to check e-mail. Then I had another - and showered - yes - cold water. Then I sat down, logged on and ever so carefully took out another and twisted the top off and licked the creme filling. No milk to dip it in - but sometimes one must suffer through. I have now eaten half a package, feel sufficiently satiated that I can move into the rest of my night and save some excitement for tomorrow.
Who knew so little could bring make the heart strings sing??? There is a large white ant with big wings flitting around. Were I a Ugandan I would leap at this treat, rip its wings off and eat it (well - maybe I would saute it first). But thanks to my Oreo fix I am not in the least tempted...
Friday, November 4, 2011
Thwarted
Things just get stuck here and the admonition of PCVs who've been here for a while come home - always bring something to read. Today was a case in point and I'm beginning to realize - not uncommon. Forward motion here is made at great odds. The Ugandan people are extremely hard working. I have never seen so much effort and industry applied simply to live a life. So it is not for lack of effort -
Electricity is the common denominator for many things. Not having electricity at my home stay just meant I either operated with a six inch circle of light from my trusty solar lamp or went to bed at 7:00 PM. But for kids, it meant no light for reading or homework. Surprisingly, after bumping around in near dark for an hour taking my cold bucket bath and then climbing under my mosquito net, I would read for a bit and discover I couldn't keep my eyes open. Not much computer escape was available at that time, because - you guessed it - there were few opportunities to charge the batteries and the mobile modem used to access internet sucks the life out of a battery remarkably fast. So I got a LOT more sleep.
Here, in Gulu access to power translates to the illusion of having electricity, because its availability is totally random. There are five computers at my organization's office and all work effectively stops when the power goes down, which is does multiple times during the day. If deadlines are to be reached, there is a mad scurry to find some office well funded enough to afford a generator, where a laptop can be plugged in and work continued. This is a rare find and still unpredictable. My hotel has a generator, but only sometimes - when the hotel is pretty active - will management turn it on.
Consider how much progress would be made in any U.S. business if - at random intervals - you lost access to computers, lights, machines - in short, all of the things that keep civilization as we know it running.
In poor countries (Uganda qualifies) - other challenges are just around the corner. First, not every organization has a vehicle. Mine does and it is the absolute heartbeat of the program because they deliver services and materials to roughly 30,000 kids and adults who participate in their Literacy project. The GULU office has one truck and some of the Program Officers have motor cycles, all of these are subject to road conditions. Many times a planned trip is aborted because you get most of the way there only to discover a pot-hole the size of Vermont or 3 feet of mud that not even an all wheel drive Toyota can out wit. But today, a rather important trip to another organization was cancelled at the last minute, because we were still awaiting a registration sticker that should have arrived yesterday. It was to have come either with one of the employees or on a bus from Kampala. Neither happened. Mail? Nah - seldom used here because not all places have an address, just a description. The registration sticker never arrived - even though this process has been "in progress" "somehow" for well over a week. There are too many variables here to even contemplate, but the end result is that nothing happens. There is no emergency fund, no process in place for such events and no petty cash (or the person who controls the petty cash is also not available). It is confounding, and hopefully, while I'm here I can address some of these issues, but they run deep and are part of a larger cultural predisposition. This is not an indictment of the organization - it happens everywhere. It's simply symptomatic of why Peace Corps and other organizations are here. But it is an eye-opener.
Also, here when you're pulled over for lack of registration, I've been told they can actually take you in and put you in a holding cell until you pay. It's not a simple matter of being fined, although that also happens. Everywhere you turn, there is a hurdle.
The next thing to fall through is my move this weekend. No registration sticker, no truck. No truck - no move. And one doesn't just go hire a truck for the weekend - well - not on a Peace Corps stipend, and just finding one is another challenge. So - work will be delayed for a day next week because someone will be moving me to my new digs - if the sticker arrives...
This is just a tiny slice of life here. But it is sometimes stunning to realize just how much is stymied due to basic services being down randomly for part of a day, or sometimes days in a row. And then there is the rain - if it rains and most of the population is on foot, work stops because it's raining. Understand - it takes more than a sprinkle to slow things down, but rain here is seldom a sprinkle. The dry season starts in December and I hear that brings on new challenges. I've been warned to keep my computer in a sleeve or plastic bag (hey - anyone sending a care package - can you stick in a two gallon zip lock that will accommodate my MacBook?) The dust is pervasive enough to kill a laptop. Noooooooooo!
Night falls here - have a good day on the other side of the planet!
Electricity is the common denominator for many things. Not having electricity at my home stay just meant I either operated with a six inch circle of light from my trusty solar lamp or went to bed at 7:00 PM. But for kids, it meant no light for reading or homework. Surprisingly, after bumping around in near dark for an hour taking my cold bucket bath and then climbing under my mosquito net, I would read for a bit and discover I couldn't keep my eyes open. Not much computer escape was available at that time, because - you guessed it - there were few opportunities to charge the batteries and the mobile modem used to access internet sucks the life out of a battery remarkably fast. So I got a LOT more sleep.
Here, in Gulu access to power translates to the illusion of having electricity, because its availability is totally random. There are five computers at my organization's office and all work effectively stops when the power goes down, which is does multiple times during the day. If deadlines are to be reached, there is a mad scurry to find some office well funded enough to afford a generator, where a laptop can be plugged in and work continued. This is a rare find and still unpredictable. My hotel has a generator, but only sometimes - when the hotel is pretty active - will management turn it on.
Consider how much progress would be made in any U.S. business if - at random intervals - you lost access to computers, lights, machines - in short, all of the things that keep civilization as we know it running.
In poor countries (Uganda qualifies) - other challenges are just around the corner. First, not every organization has a vehicle. Mine does and it is the absolute heartbeat of the program because they deliver services and materials to roughly 30,000 kids and adults who participate in their Literacy project. The GULU office has one truck and some of the Program Officers have motor cycles, all of these are subject to road conditions. Many times a planned trip is aborted because you get most of the way there only to discover a pot-hole the size of Vermont or 3 feet of mud that not even an all wheel drive Toyota can out wit. But today, a rather important trip to another organization was cancelled at the last minute, because we were still awaiting a registration sticker that should have arrived yesterday. It was to have come either with one of the employees or on a bus from Kampala. Neither happened. Mail? Nah - seldom used here because not all places have an address, just a description. The registration sticker never arrived - even though this process has been "in progress" "somehow" for well over a week. There are too many variables here to even contemplate, but the end result is that nothing happens. There is no emergency fund, no process in place for such events and no petty cash (or the person who controls the petty cash is also not available). It is confounding, and hopefully, while I'm here I can address some of these issues, but they run deep and are part of a larger cultural predisposition. This is not an indictment of the organization - it happens everywhere. It's simply symptomatic of why Peace Corps and other organizations are here. But it is an eye-opener.
Also, here when you're pulled over for lack of registration, I've been told they can actually take you in and put you in a holding cell until you pay. It's not a simple matter of being fined, although that also happens. Everywhere you turn, there is a hurdle.
The next thing to fall through is my move this weekend. No registration sticker, no truck. No truck - no move. And one doesn't just go hire a truck for the weekend - well - not on a Peace Corps stipend, and just finding one is another challenge. So - work will be delayed for a day next week because someone will be moving me to my new digs - if the sticker arrives...
This is just a tiny slice of life here. But it is sometimes stunning to realize just how much is stymied due to basic services being down randomly for part of a day, or sometimes days in a row. And then there is the rain - if it rains and most of the population is on foot, work stops because it's raining. Understand - it takes more than a sprinkle to slow things down, but rain here is seldom a sprinkle. The dry season starts in December and I hear that brings on new challenges. I've been warned to keep my computer in a sleeve or plastic bag (hey - anyone sending a care package - can you stick in a two gallon zip lock that will accommodate my MacBook?) The dust is pervasive enough to kill a laptop. Noooooooooo!
Night falls here - have a good day on the other side of the planet!
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Many Thanks
First thank you all for the great ideas that came in regarding helping with the literacy project. The High Scope recommendation (thank you Erin) now has me in contact with those folks. And Nicole, loved your ideas about faces. So things are cookin' on that front.
Have had a few experiences that are making me feel that I'm becoming part of the community here. Every morning I pass a long line of Boda drivers hoping to pick up a fare. Most Mzungu's ride them - but so far I've avoided since I really do like the walking and also - PC has been very clear about them being off limits to PCVs. Still - one called out: "I coo nining? (How did you spend the night?) So I answered: "A coo maber, in kono?" ("The night was good, and you? ") Well, he wasn't expecting that - and was just so excited this Mzungu knew some Acholi! So then the conversation began in earnest - well as far as my still limited Acholi can take me. But we exchanged names and greeting for how to spend the rest of the day. I am beginning to feel part of the place - bit by bit. Later I saw a woman I'd done some business with a few days ago and she called be by name and I actually was able to remember her name and place her. We had a good conversation and today I went back to her shop. She didn't have what I needed so, said "Let's go, I'll show you where you can get what you want." I followed her to her wholesaler and he passed on his wholesale price to me.
This is how is happens. One day you don't feel so obvious, so much like an outsider. People begin joking with you, helping you with the language and anything else that comes up. Even the attempt to speak the language (although nearly everyone here speaks English) distinguishes you from the other Mzungus that make no effort. It is remembered and a speaks volumes to them about your interest in being part of things. So to continue this, my soon to be housemate, Jaron, and I decided we'd eat at a local-food eatery. Beans and rice were "finished" at the first place, so we went for fish and millet bread (an acquired taste I think - which I have not acquired, but it's really good for you) around the corner. There we were told the "the food is finished." So we ended up at a tiny little hole-in-the-wall cafe with a dog sleeping under the front table and had a really good meal of Indian Food. Sometimes it's good to be in Gulu...
So, I packed up my apartment today, in preparation for hopefully moving on Saturday. Tomorrow we've been invited to Open Day at a vocational school just outside of town. Should be interesting. One of the PCV's is trying to get things organized out there and it will be a challenge. The students built her bathing room, the door of which fell in on her on the first use. When she grabbed it, the wall around the frame fell in. Everywhere there is need. Today, I met a man who is the Ugandan face of an NGO based in California. There mission is to get schools started in cultivating the land around the school to grow food to feed the students a lunch meal. Extra food will go to families. They are growing beans, cassava and maize. Just a couple of schools so far, but it is to not only feed the students a decent meal, but provide incentive for families to send their children to school (because at least there they will get one good meal.)
And so it goes...
Have had a few experiences that are making me feel that I'm becoming part of the community here. Every morning I pass a long line of Boda drivers hoping to pick up a fare. Most Mzungu's ride them - but so far I've avoided since I really do like the walking and also - PC has been very clear about them being off limits to PCVs. Still - one called out: "I coo nining? (How did you spend the night?) So I answered: "A coo maber, in kono?" ("The night was good, and you? ") Well, he wasn't expecting that - and was just so excited this Mzungu knew some Acholi! So then the conversation began in earnest - well as far as my still limited Acholi can take me. But we exchanged names and greeting for how to spend the rest of the day. I am beginning to feel part of the place - bit by bit. Later I saw a woman I'd done some business with a few days ago and she called be by name and I actually was able to remember her name and place her. We had a good conversation and today I went back to her shop. She didn't have what I needed so, said "Let's go, I'll show you where you can get what you want." I followed her to her wholesaler and he passed on his wholesale price to me.
This is how is happens. One day you don't feel so obvious, so much like an outsider. People begin joking with you, helping you with the language and anything else that comes up. Even the attempt to speak the language (although nearly everyone here speaks English) distinguishes you from the other Mzungus that make no effort. It is remembered and a speaks volumes to them about your interest in being part of things. So to continue this, my soon to be housemate, Jaron, and I decided we'd eat at a local-food eatery. Beans and rice were "finished" at the first place, so we went for fish and millet bread (an acquired taste I think - which I have not acquired, but it's really good for you) around the corner. There we were told the "the food is finished." So we ended up at a tiny little hole-in-the-wall cafe with a dog sleeping under the front table and had a really good meal of Indian Food. Sometimes it's good to be in Gulu...
So, I packed up my apartment today, in preparation for hopefully moving on Saturday. Tomorrow we've been invited to Open Day at a vocational school just outside of town. Should be interesting. One of the PCV's is trying to get things organized out there and it will be a challenge. The students built her bathing room, the door of which fell in on her on the first use. When she grabbed it, the wall around the frame fell in. Everywhere there is need. Today, I met a man who is the Ugandan face of an NGO based in California. There mission is to get schools started in cultivating the land around the school to grow food to feed the students a lunch meal. Extra food will go to families. They are growing beans, cassava and maize. Just a couple of schools so far, but it is to not only feed the students a decent meal, but provide incentive for families to send their children to school (because at least there they will get one good meal.)
And so it goes...
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
A Request for Ideas: Teachers' Input Needed
Some of you may remember my talking about the little boy who, at age eight, had no ability to put together a simple puzzle. Turns out his very well educated grandmother couldn't do it either. A little research into the basic educational system here revealed all education is basically rote: memorize and repeat. It explains at lot in terms of the general absence of critical thinking, problems solving skills, abstract thinking and conceptual processing.
The organization with which I am working, LABE (Literacy and Adult Basic Education) (http://www.labeuganda.org) is devoted to building functional literacy at a grass roots level. I've spoken to my supervisor about building some basic strategies into the existing approach to begin developing some of these skills, which are essential if Uganda is ever to dig itself out of the quagmire.
While I've done a lot of educating with adults, I'm not versed in the specific activities in pre-school and grade school that build the above mentioned skills. Realizing that we do these things with our own children as a simple matter of course in playing with them as toddlers and youngsters, I'm aware that most of what we do in the States is simply not available here - and we are talking about the poorest of the poor. Can't go get a nifty box of puzzles, or legos, or board games, or books. This is also not a reading culture, so I am suggesting that pictures of mothers reading to their children be included in the new books they are creating to introduce the concept that reading together is a desirable practice. Libraries are not used because - when there are books available - school librarians will not allow them out off-site because they know books will either not return or be torn and defaced if they return.
So here's my challenge and request: can you offer any BASIC thoughts or activities that could be implemented to BEGIN teaching any of these higher level skills our kids already have in place by the time they start first grade. I've done some web research and nothing SPECIFIC is turning up. (Also, I have limited web access - every bite is paid for out of my Peace Corps stipend.)
I'm thinking picture sequencing activities could be added to support the simple stories that already exist in their "readers." The obvious use of literal counting of beans, rocks, etc. for numeracy developing concrete to abstract thinking ability can be used. (There are plenty of beans and rocks...) Other than that, I am grasping at straws.
Those of you who are experts in that area (pre-school, elementary school teachers... for example) I need your ideas! Many thanks. And remember, in the vernacular of Ugandan education, anyone who has gone beyond the grade seven is an expert in their eyes. (i.e. The fact that I HAVE a computer and know how to turn it on, pretty much makes me an IT expert here. There you have it.)
Thanks in advance for any ideas!!!
N
The organization with which I am working, LABE (Literacy and Adult Basic Education) (http://www.labeuganda.org) is devoted to building functional literacy at a grass roots level. I've spoken to my supervisor about building some basic strategies into the existing approach to begin developing some of these skills, which are essential if Uganda is ever to dig itself out of the quagmire.
While I've done a lot of educating with adults, I'm not versed in the specific activities in pre-school and grade school that build the above mentioned skills. Realizing that we do these things with our own children as a simple matter of course in playing with them as toddlers and youngsters, I'm aware that most of what we do in the States is simply not available here - and we are talking about the poorest of the poor. Can't go get a nifty box of puzzles, or legos, or board games, or books. This is also not a reading culture, so I am suggesting that pictures of mothers reading to their children be included in the new books they are creating to introduce the concept that reading together is a desirable practice. Libraries are not used because - when there are books available - school librarians will not allow them out off-site because they know books will either not return or be torn and defaced if they return.
So here's my challenge and request: can you offer any BASIC thoughts or activities that could be implemented to BEGIN teaching any of these higher level skills our kids already have in place by the time they start first grade. I've done some web research and nothing SPECIFIC is turning up. (Also, I have limited web access - every bite is paid for out of my Peace Corps stipend.)
I'm thinking picture sequencing activities could be added to support the simple stories that already exist in their "readers." The obvious use of literal counting of beans, rocks, etc. for numeracy developing concrete to abstract thinking ability can be used. (There are plenty of beans and rocks...) Other than that, I am grasping at straws.
Those of you who are experts in that area (pre-school, elementary school teachers... for example) I need your ideas! Many thanks. And remember, in the vernacular of Ugandan education, anyone who has gone beyond the grade seven is an expert in their eyes. (i.e. The fact that I HAVE a computer and know how to turn it on, pretty much makes me an IT expert here. There you have it.)
Thanks in advance for any ideas!!!
N
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
The Mental Ward
OK - a new adventure everyday here. Today we (my supervisor and I) went to check out the progress on the house and found them painting, replacing window locks, putting wire mesh over the open wall vents that every Ugandan house has, etc. The screens are a big deal because the Mosquitoes are a big deal and will come through these vents, covering the walls during the day, resting up for their big night of blood sucking. Once we move in, I will cut up mosquito netting and tape it into the window wells in the hope we can open the windows at night and let some cooler air in. It's more complicated than it sounds... I promise never to forget my malaria meds.
So, moving forward, there was considerable discussion about who cares for the yard, rare because most homes in the area have no grass. The front yard is usually dirt - period. We will be in charge of "slashing" our yard. A slasher looks a little like a golf club, but the club part is a flattened blade wielded a bit like a golf swing (sorry Arnold)) but instead of whacking a golf ball, one hacks grass. Wait a minute - that sounds a lot like golf after all! Other high points: there is a huge hole in the backyard into which all debris is thrown - garbage, trees, plastic, dead animals - anything that you'd put into trash pickup in the states and plenty you wouldn't. I don't like this, but that's the way it is... Uganda will not change to satisfy one Mzungu.
No - we're not to the Mental Ward yet.... that part is coming. My landlady, Caroline, is a nurse at one of the three local hospitals, all of which westerners are told to avoid at all costs. I went to the other one today as well for reasons totally unrelated to anything medical. I tagged along with a woman in our office to see where she was taking her blanket to have it cleaned. The hospital laundry is the only place in town with an electric dryer, so for 10,000 shillings you can get your blanket washed and dried. Good to know. While this hospital/laundry is considered one of the best, I'm mighty glad Peace Corps will air evac us out if it's life threatening! But I digress.
Caroline called this afternoon and said I could meet her at work to pick up the lease, so I hiked over and saw a long line of Ugandans waiting to be allowed through the hospital gates - waiting for the guard to decide when it was time for their appointment. This seems a little random to me, but I'm relieved to be allowed through without so much as a question as to purpose or my destination. Caroline has told me to ask for the Mental Ward and I admit to feeling a little wary about this... I pass several buildings where people are having minor procedures done - open air, certainly no sanitary protocol here. Down the hill, there is a long building with bars on the widows and a lot of locked gates. The hair on my neck stands up. Inside the large rooms are rows of plastic covered beds - mostly empty. I'm glad about this, because at some point I am directed down these halls past some of these rooms. Visions of being accidentally mis-identified as a patient and having a "One Flew Over the Cukoo's Nest" experience creep on me. I hurry and I am lost.
Someone is finally sent out to find the white woman wandering around. Easy to spot, I am rescued and directed to the back of one of these prison like buildings where Caroline informs me a man has just been brought in biting everyone. But "not to worry" he has been sedated and put in a holding cell, where he will continue to receive sedation until he calms down sufficiently to be processed, at which point he will receive daily injections of an anti-psychotic drug. At some point he'll be released with a week's worth of drugs and have to come back weekly for more. This is not his first time here - he's back because his wife left him...
And so the day continues. I make it out of the Mental Ward, back to my safe little chair at my organization where I remind myself to always behave and not bite anyone, no matter how much they might deserve it.
I'm re-ensconced in my hotel room, have had a nice cold shower and a dinner of beans and rice at the Happy Nest Hotel across the street. My soon-to-be house mate and I shared a single serving large enough to feed a family of eight for the cost of about $2.00 American.
The end of today...
So, moving forward, there was considerable discussion about who cares for the yard, rare because most homes in the area have no grass. The front yard is usually dirt - period. We will be in charge of "slashing" our yard. A slasher looks a little like a golf club, but the club part is a flattened blade wielded a bit like a golf swing (sorry Arnold)) but instead of whacking a golf ball, one hacks grass. Wait a minute - that sounds a lot like golf after all! Other high points: there is a huge hole in the backyard into which all debris is thrown - garbage, trees, plastic, dead animals - anything that you'd put into trash pickup in the states and plenty you wouldn't. I don't like this, but that's the way it is... Uganda will not change to satisfy one Mzungu.
No - we're not to the Mental Ward yet.... that part is coming. My landlady, Caroline, is a nurse at one of the three local hospitals, all of which westerners are told to avoid at all costs. I went to the other one today as well for reasons totally unrelated to anything medical. I tagged along with a woman in our office to see where she was taking her blanket to have it cleaned. The hospital laundry is the only place in town with an electric dryer, so for 10,000 shillings you can get your blanket washed and dried. Good to know. While this hospital/laundry is considered one of the best, I'm mighty glad Peace Corps will air evac us out if it's life threatening! But I digress.
Caroline called this afternoon and said I could meet her at work to pick up the lease, so I hiked over and saw a long line of Ugandans waiting to be allowed through the hospital gates - waiting for the guard to decide when it was time for their appointment. This seems a little random to me, but I'm relieved to be allowed through without so much as a question as to purpose or my destination. Caroline has told me to ask for the Mental Ward and I admit to feeling a little wary about this... I pass several buildings where people are having minor procedures done - open air, certainly no sanitary protocol here. Down the hill, there is a long building with bars on the widows and a lot of locked gates. The hair on my neck stands up. Inside the large rooms are rows of plastic covered beds - mostly empty. I'm glad about this, because at some point I am directed down these halls past some of these rooms. Visions of being accidentally mis-identified as a patient and having a "One Flew Over the Cukoo's Nest" experience creep on me. I hurry and I am lost.
Someone is finally sent out to find the white woman wandering around. Easy to spot, I am rescued and directed to the back of one of these prison like buildings where Caroline informs me a man has just been brought in biting everyone. But "not to worry" he has been sedated and put in a holding cell, where he will continue to receive sedation until he calms down sufficiently to be processed, at which point he will receive daily injections of an anti-psychotic drug. At some point he'll be released with a week's worth of drugs and have to come back weekly for more. This is not his first time here - he's back because his wife left him...
And so the day continues. I make it out of the Mental Ward, back to my safe little chair at my organization where I remind myself to always behave and not bite anyone, no matter how much they might deserve it.
I'm re-ensconced in my hotel room, have had a nice cold shower and a dinner of beans and rice at the Happy Nest Hotel across the street. My soon-to-be house mate and I shared a single serving large enough to feed a family of eight for the cost of about $2.00 American.
The end of today...
Light at the End of the Tunnel
I cherish the first bit of hope I have felt since arriving in Gulu and Hallelujah the light at the end of the tunnel is not a train! Outside the industrial district, where all one hears are thundering busses, the train, the cacophony of hammering, goats bleating, kids wailing, etc. and all anchored by constant noise from blaring boom boxes deep into the night, the sounds of Gulu town settling into the night are downright comforting. I sit on the hotel room balcony sucking down a “Slurpy Yogurt” from a plastic bag and munching on a slice of Banana Bread – my first taste of almost-sweet pastry since being here. Uganda doesn’t do sweets - so this is really tickling my taste-buds. From my over head perch, I witness the exodus of school children in various colors of uniforms and they are all ages. P1 – P3 can represent kids anywhere from age 6 or so on up to teens. Some kids don’t enter the system until much older, having been either in the bush, working the fields or perhaps – just now – their families have been convinced of the value of education. Oblivious to the bicycles, piki-pikis, cars – they saunter home in a constant parade that lasts for about an hour. Mercifully, the are no thundering behemoths on this road
A mama dog wanders back and forth across the road looking ever hopeful for someone she knows or maybe a handout. The is a rarity in Gulu. I wonder if she hopped a ride on a truck or has been left there. I didn't se her come in on a boda-boda - thought almost everything else does. Ultimately, she takes up her position on the road, behind a parked truck and finally stretches out for a nap. Only the Mzungu’s (Munu here in Acholiland) bother to give her a second glance. Three young women, carrying enormous open buckets of splashing water on their heads simply step over her.
Somewhere down the road a marching band strikes up and I recognize their sound from the band that led the Hand Washing Day parade a week ago. (God – has it only been a week???) There is no music in the schools here – this is a band that is hired for celebrations and the sound brings me back to football games and marching band practice when the kids were younger. This feels s much more normal and I am grateful for the return to something that looks like I may be able to do this for two years.
Dusk is escorted in by thick, rumbling clouds roiling over the city promising a storm – not just rain.. Finally, the rain arrives - a light pinging at first – no one paying any attention and then the sky opens up. For a Louisiana girl this is heaven. The city quiets, lights flicker (we have electricity tonight) and I tuck my chair further in, nudging closer to the door to my room. Finally, I am forced inside but am so aware of the contrast between being in town and being in the hell-hole I’ve called home for the past two weeks. The house I think will be home for the next little bit anyway is just up the road. It has a porch – grass – trees! I thrill at the prospect of sitting on the porch in a rain storm and take a good deep breath. Ah – breath! And so begins Halloween Night in Gulu.
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