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.