I have become a lizard.... A few months ago, I was told by the only woman in my office "In February you will want to leave. Your heels will crack, your sky will flake, your hair will get dry and break and your lips will bleed." She is psychic....
My lips are not bleeding thanks to lip balm. I have just found some hair conditioner and one son has sent begged for moisturizer and foot balm, while the other has sent a new hat to replace the one that "is lost," and the most hysterical Christmas card I've ever read. But that's another conversation. Thank you all. Still, I have spent the last two hours horizontal in the heat, much like the lizards languishing on the brick wall and the one who looks frozen in place on the mosquito vent in my room. And really - it's not even "hot" here compared to other parts of Africa - well hell, not even compared to Texas in the summer.
The fan has come back on and for that I am grateful. My housemate has returned after having left for the bus to Kampala hours ago, only to be told that the bus is "not coming." Seems some poor unfortunate bus load of people is stranded somewhere between here and Kampala, much like the one we passed on our return trip last week. One Muzungu rider reported to us that "the bus is completely spoiled." That was an understatement.
So today has been blissfully quiet - unexpectedly so. Some Sundays there is rampant church music all day long. Today only sporadic bursts of souls being saved, punctuated by a rooster whose clock is off, and some metal clanging on the next street. Perhaps this is why I cannot find the energy to do a single productive thing today - one must celebrate the quiet. Well -I have read some of Sylvia Brown's book on past lives and am left wondering if one of mine has been spent in Africa, but it's heavy stuff to consider on a day of unadulterated laziness. Metaphysics will have to wait till a cooler day.
Last night was a wonderfully normal feeling evening. Friends came over and cooked - even brought wine, though we drank it warm. In all of the tools I brought over here, there was not a single cork screw to be found - so the red went un-explored. The white, we drank warm because it had a screw top. Amazing how one adapts in a wine crisis. I was somehow able to find cold milk in a duka a few blocks away and made instant chocolate pudding (from a Christmas box) for dessert. There was celebrating all around and we stayed up till mid-night talking about everything from communes and mico-building, to post PC plans and the U.S. political scene. We all slept late and enjoyed fabulous dark roast coffee (thank you Evie) and real half-and-half from Mini-moos from Liz. Her yellow-lab (Rufus) ate a case full before she got them packed, so these are the second attempt. Thank you Rufus for not eating these or the tuna.
By the way, five Christmas boxes mailed from Dec. 5th through Dec. 29 or so ALL arrived within days of each other. It was the most Bacchanalian opening of gifts in the history of woman kind. Shrieks of delight erupted from all those present at the opening. And the tasting of treats extended into the night. You are all "blessed among people," and a saving grace. There is absolutely nothing more exciting to a PCV than a package or a letter. They all arrived totally intact, undamaged and untampered with, despite things we've heard. Thank you all my sweet friends and thanks you to the Uganda Post office.
On a note of total trivia, termites (I think) are eating our furniture. Each day there is a little pile of wood-dust under the white pine chairs and lining the edges of the book case. We never see what's doing the eating, just the results. But I have discovered little pin-point holes in the chairs. The diners seem unfazed by the BOP insect killer I've sprayed around, so it's entirely possible that one day we will emerge from sleep and find only piles of dust. One PCV announced that termites ate a sleeve off his favorite shirt when it blew down in a storm. I'm happy they don't eat people, but I'm sure there is something else out there that does and I don't want to know its name.
Next week promises to be busy. We are back full-tilt at work and I get to start organizing files and rearranging the space. You know that makes me happy...
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
It is Finished...
Following a late return from the workshop in Kampala, I had just enough time to do hand laundry and pack for another few days to be spent at an All Volunteer Meetup in Kitgum. We have now been and come home after several faulty starts with transportation. But that's to be expected. See - I'm becoming acculturated...
Predawn on the last day we were awakened by the most horrific, rusty-door-squawking of a demented chicken that went on forever. I think the chicken must have just passed out - or maybe made into lunch. My roommate and I started giggling - well - I started - she followed and so the day began. This inauspicious wake-up call followed the 3:30 crowing of innumerable roosters, synchronous with the electricity being "finished." It's true what they say about Kitgum, it IS hotter than Gulu, Pader and any number of other places except summer in Texas. Because of this, and being old farts (well a few of us anyway - Carla I don't put you in that category yet) who chose the possibility of sharing a room with just one other person - as opposed to fifteen or twenty - we stayed at a little place called Fugly's, run by an Australian woman. The least costly are the dorm rooms (for 2 - 3) boasting fans, communal showers and toilets, etc. - and a SWIMMING POOL! It is not cheap by Ugandan standards, but not high end either. And - it is quiet. That's worth something. And then there's Betty-the-watchdog, a brindle Blue-heeler mix who "speaks."
The remainder of the group shared the school's dorm quarters and a distant latrine at the Y.Y. OKOT School for girls. Having been without the fans (electricity is finished) for two of our four nights, on the last day of the workshop we "footed" the four miles or so down an impossibly dusty road to get to Fugly's in time to enjoy the fruits of our 50,000 UgX accommodations - namely the swimming pool. As we rounded the corner, practically tearing off our clothes in anticipation of submerging in cold water, we discovered - to our horror - that they were in the advanced stages of draining said pool. This is because of the vast quantities of ash falling from the sky - fallout from the rampant burning of harvested crops. Bereft, filthy, hot and not too happy, we stripped and stood under cold showers for thirty minutes instead. It could have been worse - the pump for the bore hole broke that night...
We did have a pretty good dinner of steak and a salad (no lettuce, but lots of tomatoes, bell pepper, maybe cucumber) and onion. We rarely have meat - due to the requirement of skilling it yourself, before eating it.... So this as a real treat. There are actually other options to getting meat, but they are just too graphic to share...
Every moment of Africa is a new "surprise," in part because after six months we can still be surprised.
To get from Gulu to Kitgum, we hired a taxi, which arrived an hour late, having to deliver charcoal before we could get in, then get gas (a second attempt). Bumping along washboard roads, and tilting at impossible angles for several hours to get here, we were thrilled at the possibility of showers and a meal served at a table. It was to be our last meal time elegance for several days, other meals eaten balancing our plates on our laps while sitting on mats, assorted chairs, bricks or tree stumps. But the evening meals were truly delicious. How several people managed to cook for a group of almost thirty on two Sigiris and one propane burner is amazing. It was Chinese food one night and Indian the next. Some of the best I've had in Uganda! I appreciated having my little micro-light from Travis and Brett, to occasionally check what I was eating - sitting there in the dark. I avoided crunching down on a grasshopper sitting on the Nan bread at one point. Don't know what else I might have eaten in the interim though.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Arriving at the venue for this 4-day workshop we were escorted to a Mango tree with mats under it. The agenda was taped to the wall of the mud hut that represents home to the organizer of the event. Call me crazy, but I had anticipated some sort of a classroom, with actual chairs. See what I mean - there's always a surprise around the corner. After the first day, it seemed completely normal to have a diminishing clutch of freshly hatch chicks escorted by a very protective mother hen pecking through our midst. A drove of pigs oinked as they uprooted the field next to us and goats occupied the tops of ant heaps and the random brick wall. Various critters periodically fell in our laps from the mango tree as the breeze dislodged them from their perches, but all in all it was thoroughly entertaining. Moving into the computer lab for one of the sessions was a drag.
Transport away from this garden spot was another eyeopener. We had planned (no I mean really PLANNED) to ride with PCV Response (former PCV's who return in response to some specific need - this one being malaria prevention) Volunteer who rated a driver and a vehicle. We certainly felt plans had been made abundantly clear, having told the volunteer in the presence of the driver that two of us would be joining them. We even gave the driver our phone number. All planned - to leave at 9:00 the next morning. We tried to give him details of where, but this was not to be as he insisted on calling us in the morning... Ah - that was the crux of the problem. Never do this again.
Next morning - the network? It is finished. There will be no telephone calls. But we are certain that our fellow volunteers will NOT let them leave without us - everyone knows where we are staying after all. We waited - and waited - and were left. Fugly's owner, brenda, tok mercy on us and finally drove us to the bus park where we discovered all three busses to Gulu were booked. - There was no room for these Munus. So we eyed an almost full Matatu, 10 in a vehicle made for 12 and we made 12 because it claimed to be going to Gulu "non-now." (Now-now in the local vernacular means really NOW. Now just means sometimes today...) Ah HA! We negotiated a price and paid - a mistake. We were then informed that they are waiting for another 10 people before leaving. Full is never full in the world of Ugandan transportation. It's not full till it leaves - and it ain't leavin' till it's full. And that means 24 in a vehicle made for 12. We waited.... more people came. Women with small children piling in and on top of each other. In a last ditch effort to get this thing moving, I found they were finally only waiting for 2 and one was in the process of paying. I offered to pay for the last seat so we can leave - and selfishly, so we can sit only three to a row, instead of - well one never knows.
Miraculously we left almost "now-now," but not before another man piled in, leaving the conductor (who I call a referee because he referees where people will sit) to squeeze in a spot where only a chicken will fit. He was relatively small...
We started and bumbled back along the washboard road, stopping to pick up another 6 or so people and all their luggage on the way back to Gulu. I stopped counting at 20, but god bless the referee - he protected the sanctity of our three seats - so, Ugly Americans that we were, we arrived three hours later, covered with grime, hair caked in dust, luggage coated in dirt - but in better shape than we would have had we not bought that seat.
The crowning piece of the trip was that when we arrived in Gulu, there were the folks we were supposed to have ridden with (in a nice comfy vehicle) already there enjoying lunch. Stunned, we approached - wondering WTF, and how did you think we might get home??? It seems communication debacles are not just the province of locals. Americans can claim equal bragging rights to total screw-ups. There was nothing malicious about our being stranded, just assumptions and mis-communication. One is left wondering if there is any way to override such possibilities when the channels we are accustomed to are simply "finished." We are creatures of convenience and in a country were nothing can be relied on except that it will be "finished" when you need it, well - all bets are off.
One must rely on wits and goodwill. I remind myself that I chose this adventure and the nature of adventure is constant exposure to the unknown, some hazards, some danger, but mostly just stuff you don't encounter in the safety of your known world. This qualifies.
Predawn on the last day we were awakened by the most horrific, rusty-door-squawking of a demented chicken that went on forever. I think the chicken must have just passed out - or maybe made into lunch. My roommate and I started giggling - well - I started - she followed and so the day began. This inauspicious wake-up call followed the 3:30 crowing of innumerable roosters, synchronous with the electricity being "finished." It's true what they say about Kitgum, it IS hotter than Gulu, Pader and any number of other places except summer in Texas. Because of this, and being old farts (well a few of us anyway - Carla I don't put you in that category yet) who chose the possibility of sharing a room with just one other person - as opposed to fifteen or twenty - we stayed at a little place called Fugly's, run by an Australian woman. The least costly are the dorm rooms (for 2 - 3) boasting fans, communal showers and toilets, etc. - and a SWIMMING POOL! It is not cheap by Ugandan standards, but not high end either. And - it is quiet. That's worth something. And then there's Betty-the-watchdog, a brindle Blue-heeler mix who "speaks."
The remainder of the group shared the school's dorm quarters and a distant latrine at the Y.Y. OKOT School for girls. Having been without the fans (electricity is finished) for two of our four nights, on the last day of the workshop we "footed" the four miles or so down an impossibly dusty road to get to Fugly's in time to enjoy the fruits of our 50,000 UgX accommodations - namely the swimming pool. As we rounded the corner, practically tearing off our clothes in anticipation of submerging in cold water, we discovered - to our horror - that they were in the advanced stages of draining said pool. This is because of the vast quantities of ash falling from the sky - fallout from the rampant burning of harvested crops. Bereft, filthy, hot and not too happy, we stripped and stood under cold showers for thirty minutes instead. It could have been worse - the pump for the bore hole broke that night...
We did have a pretty good dinner of steak and a salad (no lettuce, but lots of tomatoes, bell pepper, maybe cucumber) and onion. We rarely have meat - due to the requirement of skilling it yourself, before eating it.... So this as a real treat. There are actually other options to getting meat, but they are just too graphic to share...
Every moment of Africa is a new "surprise," in part because after six months we can still be surprised.
To get from Gulu to Kitgum, we hired a taxi, which arrived an hour late, having to deliver charcoal before we could get in, then get gas (a second attempt). Bumping along washboard roads, and tilting at impossible angles for several hours to get here, we were thrilled at the possibility of showers and a meal served at a table. It was to be our last meal time elegance for several days, other meals eaten balancing our plates on our laps while sitting on mats, assorted chairs, bricks or tree stumps. But the evening meals were truly delicious. How several people managed to cook for a group of almost thirty on two Sigiris and one propane burner is amazing. It was Chinese food one night and Indian the next. Some of the best I've had in Uganda! I appreciated having my little micro-light from Travis and Brett, to occasionally check what I was eating - sitting there in the dark. I avoided crunching down on a grasshopper sitting on the Nan bread at one point. Don't know what else I might have eaten in the interim though.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Arriving at the venue for this 4-day workshop we were escorted to a Mango tree with mats under it. The agenda was taped to the wall of the mud hut that represents home to the organizer of the event. Call me crazy, but I had anticipated some sort of a classroom, with actual chairs. See what I mean - there's always a surprise around the corner. After the first day, it seemed completely normal to have a diminishing clutch of freshly hatch chicks escorted by a very protective mother hen pecking through our midst. A drove of pigs oinked as they uprooted the field next to us and goats occupied the tops of ant heaps and the random brick wall. Various critters periodically fell in our laps from the mango tree as the breeze dislodged them from their perches, but all in all it was thoroughly entertaining. Moving into the computer lab for one of the sessions was a drag.
Transport away from this garden spot was another eyeopener. We had planned (no I mean really PLANNED) to ride with PCV Response (former PCV's who return in response to some specific need - this one being malaria prevention) Volunteer who rated a driver and a vehicle. We certainly felt plans had been made abundantly clear, having told the volunteer in the presence of the driver that two of us would be joining them. We even gave the driver our phone number. All planned - to leave at 9:00 the next morning. We tried to give him details of where, but this was not to be as he insisted on calling us in the morning... Ah - that was the crux of the problem. Never do this again.
Next morning - the network? It is finished. There will be no telephone calls. But we are certain that our fellow volunteers will NOT let them leave without us - everyone knows where we are staying after all. We waited - and waited - and were left. Fugly's owner, brenda, tok mercy on us and finally drove us to the bus park where we discovered all three busses to Gulu were booked. - There was no room for these Munus. So we eyed an almost full Matatu, 10 in a vehicle made for 12 and we made 12 because it claimed to be going to Gulu "non-now." (Now-now in the local vernacular means really NOW. Now just means sometimes today...) Ah HA! We negotiated a price and paid - a mistake. We were then informed that they are waiting for another 10 people before leaving. Full is never full in the world of Ugandan transportation. It's not full till it leaves - and it ain't leavin' till it's full. And that means 24 in a vehicle made for 12. We waited.... more people came. Women with small children piling in and on top of each other. In a last ditch effort to get this thing moving, I found they were finally only waiting for 2 and one was in the process of paying. I offered to pay for the last seat so we can leave - and selfishly, so we can sit only three to a row, instead of - well one never knows.
Miraculously we left almost "now-now," but not before another man piled in, leaving the conductor (who I call a referee because he referees where people will sit) to squeeze in a spot where only a chicken will fit. He was relatively small...
We started and bumbled back along the washboard road, stopping to pick up another 6 or so people and all their luggage on the way back to Gulu. I stopped counting at 20, but god bless the referee - he protected the sanctity of our three seats - so, Ugly Americans that we were, we arrived three hours later, covered with grime, hair caked in dust, luggage coated in dirt - but in better shape than we would have had we not bought that seat.
The crowning piece of the trip was that when we arrived in Gulu, there were the folks we were supposed to have ridden with (in a nice comfy vehicle) already there enjoying lunch. Stunned, we approached - wondering WTF, and how did you think we might get home??? It seems communication debacles are not just the province of locals. Americans can claim equal bragging rights to total screw-ups. There was nothing malicious about our being stranded, just assumptions and mis-communication. One is left wondering if there is any way to override such possibilities when the channels we are accustomed to are simply "finished." We are creatures of convenience and in a country were nothing can be relied on except that it will be "finished" when you need it, well - all bets are off.
One must rely on wits and goodwill. I remind myself that I chose this adventure and the nature of adventure is constant exposure to the unknown, some hazards, some danger, but mostly just stuff you don't encounter in the safety of your known world. This qualifies.
Monday, January 23, 2012
And the vote is....
Last week I spent 5 days at a workshop for my organization. It was an intense cultural immersion: really excellent to be meet the other players in LABE, see who the personalities are, who does what and learn more about the organization as a whole and their approach to problem solving. Delivering literacy services to the bush is more complex than one might imagine. If you've been following the blog, you already know about some of the adventures and misadventures involved in going to the field. Other PCVs can add tomes, I'm sure. But other issues have to do with the internal machinations of an organization spread out over the whole of northern Uganda and connected by road systems that make Skinner's maze look like child's play and road conditions that rival a Survivor episode. Add to that that they only sometimes have power, sometimes phone service, sometimes fuel and seldom at the same time other regions have these services, well - you are beginning to get some idea here. These are all understandable.
Then of course there is the matter of infra-structure in a country not schooled in same. LABE a group of individuals totally committed to their work and to self-analysis and trying to create systems that may be old-hat in the west, but that are new here. This means examining process: what's working and what's not. And that, of course, has been largely my business for the last 20 years. So I guess - for better or for worse - the universe dropped me in the right place. And yet, doing it here is another "not so straight forward" process. Everything here is consensus driven and that can be a sloooooow and tedious bit of work.
By far, the most exhausting part of the week was to be immersed in the dynamics of how decisions are made (or not...) and to understand the deep differences between the Ugandan Process and what a similar meeting would be like in the States. For someone who has had the total autonomy of acting as a committee of one for the last two decades, I have not had to work within the context and confines of group decision making. So this could be frustrating for me even in the U.S., but the degree to which consensus is required here has become an art form and offers a lot of insight into the business life here. I have been doing a lot of tip-toeing.
I have been told by Ugandans that theirs is not a culture that delegates responsibility and it's been a study in delay to see how systems operate around that. It is a very polite culture that operates within very tightly wound morass of protocol, policies and rewards/punishments. This is hard for those of us who have operated in organizations that allow for and expect a huge amount of autonomy and out-of-the-box problem solving. Nevertheless, they have been very respectful of my comments and indeed, have embraced every one of my ideas and committed to implementing them. This is both gratifying and terrifying, because I sure hope they work ;-) and will wait to see how implementation results.
Some of this rare opportunity to observe has been brought about by the Director's request that Betty and I take notes on the meetings and give a summary of the previous days activities each morning. At the end we are to produce a detailed and report, which is turning out to be "not for the weak-of-heart." There are pages upon pages upon pages of flip chart notes on exercises that essentially have dissected operations in countless different ways, producing the same results each time. The verdict is out on how this approach worked, but it has produced a lot of action items and gained consensus - meaning nothing is going to happen without it. So, I will need to take a deep breath and buckle in, because I'm not on the bus alone and there are 18 other people who get a vote.
This has also been a study in ceremony, acknowledgements and protocol. The act of acknowledgement "We thank the honorable chairman .... we appreciate very much the contributions of .... however..." is endearing to some degree, but compared to the faster pace of American life, where such things are assumed or represented in body language or by-passed, it is interminable. Still, if such cultural protocols are not observed, it's a faux pas that sticks in the minds of all present and I will have to stop myself to remember these new rules and build in time to demonstrate these courtesies. Because protocol is more important than the information imparted.
If you don't follow protocol, no one is going to listen to you anyway. I am a reasonably polite person, diplomatic, observant.... But remember that some behaviors have been informed by the British and others via a tribal system of communal agreement. Both of these contributions of history are confounding to Americans whose DNA derives from a bunch of strong willed, rowdy malcontents with a deep suspicion of - if not disrespect of - authority, all-the-while demanding autonomy and the right to "talk back." So to be plunged into a system of formality, while at the same time being at-one with a lack of privacy and personal space in other areas is somewhat of a conundrum.
This demand for formality has also been made evident to me in my language lessons I've been having where I've been learning scenarios and protocols for meetings. There is "ceremony" here for introducing leaders, specifically addressing agendas, referencing everything down to the date and where the meeting is held - both pretty obvious. Re-stating them would seem to be redundant in the States, but omissions here would be considered a flagrant act of disrespect here.
Not to belabor the point, but Day 1 started two hours late and morphed into a very democratic process of voting on when the meeting would start on subsequent days, when we would have morning break tea, lunch, evening break tea, end the meeting - then have dinner. In the states, it would be: listen-up! Here's the agenda, be there, be on time and organize your life around these factors. Anyone two hours later would be boiled or not admitted and who cares if you like the schedule anyway. Just adapt. Rude in this society, but routine in ours. Therefore day one was instructional in ways I had not anticipated.
In a paradigm where no one person is responsible for a decision, no one can be the bad guy, lose face or be considered pushy. I'm sure this is not consciously thought out, but it is an interesting dynamic... and it is not just my interpretation, but explained to me by a Ugandan friend whom I trust. I recognize the indicators of this from some other scenarios in American culture - indeed some relationships... I've been guilty of that - and as they say, it takes one to know one. So I recognize it when I'm repeatedly hit over the head with it. If no one makes a hard decision, no one can "be blamed." This is a scenario in the conflict resolution workshops I've taught and the fall-out is that important decisions are delayed or not made. But it's an altogether different issue when this is a deeply embedded cultural standard and operates in every context. Hard to change and challenging to work around.
This is also a very literal culture. Process cannot be truncated, there are no leaps ahead. There is a stated policy for everything, because god forbid one might be fired for non-performance (an unstated policy). I think this might be distinctly western, coming from an educational system that trains us from the cradle in processes that develop the skills of abstract thinking, pattern recognition, organization of concepts and logic. The emerging educational system here does not, so these abilities are not hard-wired in by the time you start working.
Well - enough. I will do my best to play by these rules, but I don't know if I can behave myself for two years (21 months and counting). Time will tell. I hope Ugandan's will have mercy on this independent, mouthy Munu.
Monday, January 16, 2012
A Day in the Life of Bus...
There are reasons I'd rather drink bleach than ride a bus to Kampala and yesterday I remembered all of them.
We started at 8:45 in theory. Actually, mentally I started two days before, asking staff, "Now, how are are we getting to Kampala?" Praying against hope that we would go in a vehicle other than the bus, this was not to be. One would think, with this conference being on the books for essentially a year, that advance plans could be made. I am not casting aspersions on my NGO - they are lovely, intelligent, people who deliver amazing services under difficult circumstances. This is not about them. It is about busses... The problem is, one cannot actually buy tickets in advance, even if one might perchance go to the bus office (if there is one) and try. Either that bus doesn't run on Sunday (Post bus - the most reliable) no one is there, "tickets are finished," or - well - it's just not done. "You just come and see," means come early and wait to see: if the bus arrives and if so, are there any seats.
This is not as straight forward as it sounds. The drill, with few exceptions, goes something like this:
Arrive at least a hour early and stand around the filthy, dusty, chaotic bus park waiting to see what comes along or which ones are there and planning to go to your destination. Try to keep your hands on your luggage and pray that you have packed light - i.e. a bag you can put between your feet, on your lap or if you're terribly brave in the overhead. But if you do that, put it across from you so you can keep an eagle-eye on it every time someone gets on or off the bus. Don't doze - your bag may walk off while you cat nap. Take it with you when you go pee at the one stop between here and where ever.
When/if the bus arrives run like a bat-out-of-hell to the door and join the crush waiting to force their way in the door as others are trying to force their way out. None of this polite crap about letting people exit, having someone SEE how many vacant seats there are, etc. No, no! The rule is: if there's space for a hair between you and the person in front of you, you are not close enough. Someone else will see this as a break in traffic and insert them selves. As another PCV said, if your front side side is not pressed against their backside (I've cleaned this up - the original version was much more graphic), you're too far apart. Ignore the crush of vendors hawking their wares at the windows and the arms and legs sticking out of the windows for various reasons. This does not insure confidence.
As the door opens, quickly insert as much of your body as will fit, shoving your foot up to reach the step that is two feet off the ground and grab something - it doesn't matter: a rail, foot, arm, peace of clothing, chicken or leg of goat.... Insert self. Force self through one-foot wide isle against traffic and get as far back the isle as possible to be SURE there are no empty seats. When you discover there ARE no spaces, repeat process in the opposite direction. Against all better judgement saying "there are NO FRIGGIN' SEATS N THIS BUS," and I would rather die than get on this bus, our entire group of five persisted in this process (one carrying a two-year-old) and all of us carrying luggage. I followed like a lemming because if they magically get on and I do not, I have to repeat this process alone. And face it - apparently this is really the only way to get a seat. Those that wait don't get on the bus - ever! Unless you take the following approach:
The alternative being... to wait and see if an empty bus waiting (if there IS a bus waiting) will actually fill up to leave sometime that day. After missing that previous bus (called The White Bus), and another (the Homeland Express) which was booked with a private party, and another in a different bus park, I finally pleaded the case of finding a nice window seat on the empty bus 10 feet away, before that one too fills up while we wait for a phantom bus. We do this, just before the crowd emerges out of no-where to take remaining seats. Sometimes this process takes most of a day and - for the most part - busses DO NOT LEAVE until all seats are filled. This usually means not only are all the seats filled, but in some seats there is the passenger (usually a mother) with three to seven small children in or around her lap or standing in the isles as was the case on our bus. Friends who recently took a bus and sat in the front (the most dangerous seats on the bus for obvious reasons) had to climb over mounds of luggage, a baby goat, a pile of live chickens and assorted people to get out.
This scene is repeated hundreds of times per day in bus parks all over Uganda and is absolutely routine.
If you are lucky enough to be traveling on a week-day, one might be able to show up at o-dark-thirty and get on the Post Bus, the one bus that leaves at a pre-specified time and sometimes sells a ticket in advance (but often not). Still, arrival way ahead of time is the only way to ensure a seat and there are still goats and chickens and one latrine stop. They also pray before departing - and I am learning this is a good idea.
Nine hours after we began this foray, we arrived at our hotel in Kampala. There have been seven police security stops, one latrine stop (pay to go) and one stop to argue with a man who had not paid, but somehow found the money as he was being lifted off the bus. When we arrive, there is electricity just long enough for me to take a cold shower and wash ten pounds of red dust out of my hair and dry it before making it down to dinner at 6:00. We are finally served at somewhere around 8:00, by which time "power is finished," and I stumbled up to the fourth floor by the light of my tiny flashlight to tumble into bed.
And that's another story....
P.S. The White Bus we didn't take, but that left two hours before us, arrived after us as we waited for a taxi. The other bus, that was fixing a flat tire and didn't know when it might leave, had an accident en route, colliding with a large transport truck - injuring 30 people. Just another travel day in the Pearl of Africa.
We started at 8:45 in theory. Actually, mentally I started two days before, asking staff, "Now, how are are we getting to Kampala?" Praying against hope that we would go in a vehicle other than the bus, this was not to be. One would think, with this conference being on the books for essentially a year, that advance plans could be made. I am not casting aspersions on my NGO - they are lovely, intelligent, people who deliver amazing services under difficult circumstances. This is not about them. It is about busses... The problem is, one cannot actually buy tickets in advance, even if one might perchance go to the bus office (if there is one) and try. Either that bus doesn't run on Sunday (Post bus - the most reliable) no one is there, "tickets are finished," or - well - it's just not done. "You just come and see," means come early and wait to see: if the bus arrives and if so, are there any seats.
This is not as straight forward as it sounds. The drill, with few exceptions, goes something like this:
Arrive at least a hour early and stand around the filthy, dusty, chaotic bus park waiting to see what comes along or which ones are there and planning to go to your destination. Try to keep your hands on your luggage and pray that you have packed light - i.e. a bag you can put between your feet, on your lap or if you're terribly brave in the overhead. But if you do that, put it across from you so you can keep an eagle-eye on it every time someone gets on or off the bus. Don't doze - your bag may walk off while you cat nap. Take it with you when you go pee at the one stop between here and where ever.
When/if the bus arrives run like a bat-out-of-hell to the door and join the crush waiting to force their way in the door as others are trying to force their way out. None of this polite crap about letting people exit, having someone SEE how many vacant seats there are, etc. No, no! The rule is: if there's space for a hair between you and the person in front of you, you are not close enough. Someone else will see this as a break in traffic and insert them selves. As another PCV said, if your front side side is not pressed against their backside (I've cleaned this up - the original version was much more graphic), you're too far apart. Ignore the crush of vendors hawking their wares at the windows and the arms and legs sticking out of the windows for various reasons. This does not insure confidence.
As the door opens, quickly insert as much of your body as will fit, shoving your foot up to reach the step that is two feet off the ground and grab something - it doesn't matter: a rail, foot, arm, peace of clothing, chicken or leg of goat.... Insert self. Force self through one-foot wide isle against traffic and get as far back the isle as possible to be SURE there are no empty seats. When you discover there ARE no spaces, repeat process in the opposite direction. Against all better judgement saying "there are NO FRIGGIN' SEATS N THIS BUS," and I would rather die than get on this bus, our entire group of five persisted in this process (one carrying a two-year-old) and all of us carrying luggage. I followed like a lemming because if they magically get on and I do not, I have to repeat this process alone. And face it - apparently this is really the only way to get a seat. Those that wait don't get on the bus - ever! Unless you take the following approach:
The alternative being... to wait and see if an empty bus waiting (if there IS a bus waiting) will actually fill up to leave sometime that day. After missing that previous bus (called The White Bus), and another (the Homeland Express) which was booked with a private party, and another in a different bus park, I finally pleaded the case of finding a nice window seat on the empty bus 10 feet away, before that one too fills up while we wait for a phantom bus. We do this, just before the crowd emerges out of no-where to take remaining seats. Sometimes this process takes most of a day and - for the most part - busses DO NOT LEAVE until all seats are filled. This usually means not only are all the seats filled, but in some seats there is the passenger (usually a mother) with three to seven small children in or around her lap or standing in the isles as was the case on our bus. Friends who recently took a bus and sat in the front (the most dangerous seats on the bus for obvious reasons) had to climb over mounds of luggage, a baby goat, a pile of live chickens and assorted people to get out.
This scene is repeated hundreds of times per day in bus parks all over Uganda and is absolutely routine.
If you are lucky enough to be traveling on a week-day, one might be able to show up at o-dark-thirty and get on the Post Bus, the one bus that leaves at a pre-specified time and sometimes sells a ticket in advance (but often not). Still, arrival way ahead of time is the only way to ensure a seat and there are still goats and chickens and one latrine stop. They also pray before departing - and I am learning this is a good idea.
Nine hours after we began this foray, we arrived at our hotel in Kampala. There have been seven police security stops, one latrine stop (pay to go) and one stop to argue with a man who had not paid, but somehow found the money as he was being lifted off the bus. When we arrive, there is electricity just long enough for me to take a cold shower and wash ten pounds of red dust out of my hair and dry it before making it down to dinner at 6:00. We are finally served at somewhere around 8:00, by which time "power is finished," and I stumbled up to the fourth floor by the light of my tiny flashlight to tumble into bed.
And that's another story....
P.S. The White Bus we didn't take, but that left two hours before us, arrived after us as we waited for a taxi. The other bus, that was fixing a flat tire and didn't know when it might leave, had an accident en route, colliding with a large transport truck - injuring 30 people. Just another travel day in the Pearl of Africa.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Friday the 13th: bats, rats and cows?
As my mother used to say - and I hope she doesn't have personal experience with this: "It's hotter than the hinges of Hell." I think it's not really THAT hot, but damn it's hot. I think it's exacerbated by the fact that there is no respite from it: no Ac, no fan, no cold water, no getting really clean and staying that way, mosquitoes...
So power "is finished" and has been for two days now. We're back to scrounging power from places with generators, so that, no doubt will be how I spend part of the day tomorrow - recharging devices and paying for the privilege by paying for food.
And the night after that of the screams, my housemate reported that there was a cow moo-ing outside of his window. We don't have a cow. And looking a little bleary eyed today, he reported having gotten little sleep last night because he was up chasing mice - and he thinks at least one rat. Now that does it! And last night there were bats... but not inside. I have to say they're falling down on the job of eating mosquitoes. Anyway, I'm so glad I'm at the other end of the house. But since we don't know where they (the rats) are coming from, I'm not sure that helps. I'm happy I have no points of entry from the crawl space or the garage... And tonight is Friday the 13th. I'm sleeping with a flashlight and a wooden spike.
It's the beginning of another weekend in the metropolis of Gulu - the music is at full-tilt, the haze I saw when walking back from dinner with friends, is dust - although if you work hard at it, you might be able to come up with something more romantic and the streets are alive.
Sunday I get to ride the bus into Kampala. I'd rather stick pins in my eyes that ride a bus to Kampala (6 sardined hours, almost certainly shared with chickens, 'n kids, and maybe a goat or two and god knows what else). The good news is I'm riding in the company of four other people from our office so it will be easier. The bus stops once along the way for what's called a "short call." It's a bathroom stop where we get to pay 200 UgS to trot down a dirt path and use a pit latrine. One avoids gagging from the smell by keeping the door open or wearing a bandana over your nose. (Not much chance anyone will think you're trying to hold up the place. Give me all your toilet paper or else! It could happen...) If you're not riding with people you trust, you also have to take your possessions (backpack, etc) with you so it makes it all the way to your destination with you and not someone else. It means you'll also lose your seat and possibly end up sitting over the rear axel and spending the next half of the trip hoping you don't dislocate something or crack a tooth from all the banging around. And then there are the 100+ hawkers of unidentifiable foods shoving things in your face until you can finally make it back to the "safe haven" of the bus. Actually some are identifiable and safe, other's not so much: steamed or roasted corn, roasted animal parts on a stick, fruit, ground nuts, a flat bread that looked like a puffy tortillas, something that is boiled or steamed and looks like a cross between a peanut and a bean... Some is actually pretty good, but I don't eat it for health reasons - not wanting to tempt fate. A friend whose family came to visit told me 3 of the 4 were tested positive for Typhoid. The good news from that is that false positives abound. The bad news is they still fell like #*&+!
When we get there we get the thrill of being dropped off in the bus park (remember the one that looks like a hornet's nest) and negotiate a Matatu (12 seat taxis filled with 20 people) and get to the LABE headquarters. You can see why I'm ever-so-grateful to be going with a group of people who know how to do these things.
On that happy note, I'm going to finish Pillars of the Earth (rape, pillage, and popes in the Middle Ages) tonight, so I can start a trashy who-done-it on the trip next week. Great escapes come in small packages - and I'm taking a supply of chocolate! (Thanks Evie!).
Nighty night ya'll
So power "is finished" and has been for two days now. We're back to scrounging power from places with generators, so that, no doubt will be how I spend part of the day tomorrow - recharging devices and paying for the privilege by paying for food.
And the night after that of the screams, my housemate reported that there was a cow moo-ing outside of his window. We don't have a cow. And looking a little bleary eyed today, he reported having gotten little sleep last night because he was up chasing mice - and he thinks at least one rat. Now that does it! And last night there were bats... but not inside. I have to say they're falling down on the job of eating mosquitoes. Anyway, I'm so glad I'm at the other end of the house. But since we don't know where they (the rats) are coming from, I'm not sure that helps. I'm happy I have no points of entry from the crawl space or the garage... And tonight is Friday the 13th. I'm sleeping with a flashlight and a wooden spike.
It's the beginning of another weekend in the metropolis of Gulu - the music is at full-tilt, the haze I saw when walking back from dinner with friends, is dust - although if you work hard at it, you might be able to come up with something more romantic and the streets are alive.
Sunday I get to ride the bus into Kampala. I'd rather stick pins in my eyes that ride a bus to Kampala (6 sardined hours, almost certainly shared with chickens, 'n kids, and maybe a goat or two and god knows what else). The good news is I'm riding in the company of four other people from our office so it will be easier. The bus stops once along the way for what's called a "short call." It's a bathroom stop where we get to pay 200 UgS to trot down a dirt path and use a pit latrine. One avoids gagging from the smell by keeping the door open or wearing a bandana over your nose. (Not much chance anyone will think you're trying to hold up the place. Give me all your toilet paper or else! It could happen...) If you're not riding with people you trust, you also have to take your possessions (backpack, etc) with you so it makes it all the way to your destination with you and not someone else. It means you'll also lose your seat and possibly end up sitting over the rear axel and spending the next half of the trip hoping you don't dislocate something or crack a tooth from all the banging around. And then there are the 100+ hawkers of unidentifiable foods shoving things in your face until you can finally make it back to the "safe haven" of the bus. Actually some are identifiable and safe, other's not so much: steamed or roasted corn, roasted animal parts on a stick, fruit, ground nuts, a flat bread that looked like a puffy tortillas, something that is boiled or steamed and looks like a cross between a peanut and a bean... Some is actually pretty good, but I don't eat it for health reasons - not wanting to tempt fate. A friend whose family came to visit told me 3 of the 4 were tested positive for Typhoid. The good news from that is that false positives abound. The bad news is they still fell like #*&+!
When we get there we get the thrill of being dropped off in the bus park (remember the one that looks like a hornet's nest) and negotiate a Matatu (12 seat taxis filled with 20 people) and get to the LABE headquarters. You can see why I'm ever-so-grateful to be going with a group of people who know how to do these things.
On that happy note, I'm going to finish Pillars of the Earth (rape, pillage, and popes in the Middle Ages) tonight, so I can start a trashy who-done-it on the trip next week. Great escapes come in small packages - and I'm taking a supply of chocolate! (Thanks Evie!).
Nighty night ya'll
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Screams in the Night
The Mosquito Zapping proved to be a diversion from the usual night activity, but I soon learned that one has to hold down a little button after turning the thing on. Instruction reading not being my forte I was not informed of this by Jaron, the current title holder in Mosquito Zapping, until I was observed comically flinging my arms around to no great benefit. It's humbling to be seen doing something really stupid, but at least I now have a few Mosquito Kills notched on my belt. The zap and sizzle is really quite satisfying and I still think it could be an aerobic activity - though the mosquitoes seem to prefer his room. For that I am feeling profoundly grateful if not a wee bit guilty.
So after a healthy round of Mosquito Zapping, I settled into an uncharacteristically quite night with my book, Pillars of the Earth. (Anyone wanting to know how to build a cathedral, this tome is the ticket...). I think Sunday nights might actually be quieter, because the entire day has been spend with church music and there is a lot of singing and dancing and music making. It sounds exhausting. Also, there was no electricity and this acts as a dampener some of the time. (Sorry Holly and Bill. I know your 30 hour Country Western Marathon in the field behind your house was done with the aid of a generator...) - Therefore, there was no white noise of the fan or thudding bass, to mask the blood curdling, soul wrenching guttural screams that pierced the night silence around 10 PM. It went on - and on - and it was the kind of scream that - in the States - would result in an immediate call to 911. However, here there is no such thing, although there is a 999 which sometimes, randomly results in action, if anyone is answering the phone, if you can provide an address or if it is taken seriously. After all, it could just be "wife beating," an offense that while formally discouraged by the powers that be, is still largely a culturally accepted event.
What to do? We have had discussions about this during Peace Corps training. Does one intervene and if so - how, when and to what degree? My EMS and Victim Services training was triggered with the admonition to "first considered your own safety." With domestic violence here, there is usually liquor, sometimes a knife or weapon and chances are - bloodletting, which also means a high probability of the presence of exposing self to HIV/AIDS. According to Jaron, whose room backs to the tenant's quarters, their conversation simply continued with no apparent concern. They are apparently not concerned, or a least not moved to action.
The screaming went on and there were no other voices, no talking, yelling, running feet, furniture crashing etc. It trailed off into the town and was replaced by some male voices in the distance, then came back to the neighborhood in slightly less violent tones and then settled into sobs and retching. My stomach was tightening, heart racing - feeling threat, though it was not rational personal threat.
The next day, I ran into the middle-aged Ugandan nurse who lives in the compound-quarters behind my house and asked her about it. She gave me a slightly deprecating smile that implied it was nothing.... then said,"it is nothing to disturb you!" Hmmm - that's not doing it for me, because one thing is certain, I was certainly disturbed. So I prevailed, and was told "she was probably being beaten by her husband. But it is not for you - it is for them." Well that's certainly reassuring.
So then, I asked my visiting house guest, who lives on the compound grounds of a residential secondary-school for girls and she informed me that such screaming is not un-common and is not always proportionate to the event. Well now I feel better.... (this is certainly not helping). She explained that they often get that level of drama from self-imposed exorcisms and teacher inflicted caning - as in corporal punishment. Still not helping.
So, I am left looking at everyone I pass on that street now to see if there is any evidence of what went on in the middle of an otherwise quiet night in this small town in the middle of Africa, knowing that this and similar scenes are probably played out time and time again in other little villages where no one really intervenes or talks about it later.
This is Africa.
So after a healthy round of Mosquito Zapping, I settled into an uncharacteristically quite night with my book, Pillars of the Earth. (Anyone wanting to know how to build a cathedral, this tome is the ticket...). I think Sunday nights might actually be quieter, because the entire day has been spend with church music and there is a lot of singing and dancing and music making. It sounds exhausting. Also, there was no electricity and this acts as a dampener some of the time. (Sorry Holly and Bill. I know your 30 hour Country Western Marathon in the field behind your house was done with the aid of a generator...) - Therefore, there was no white noise of the fan or thudding bass, to mask the blood curdling, soul wrenching guttural screams that pierced the night silence around 10 PM. It went on - and on - and it was the kind of scream that - in the States - would result in an immediate call to 911. However, here there is no such thing, although there is a 999 which sometimes, randomly results in action, if anyone is answering the phone, if you can provide an address or if it is taken seriously. After all, it could just be "wife beating," an offense that while formally discouraged by the powers that be, is still largely a culturally accepted event.
What to do? We have had discussions about this during Peace Corps training. Does one intervene and if so - how, when and to what degree? My EMS and Victim Services training was triggered with the admonition to "first considered your own safety." With domestic violence here, there is usually liquor, sometimes a knife or weapon and chances are - bloodletting, which also means a high probability of the presence of exposing self to HIV/AIDS. According to Jaron, whose room backs to the tenant's quarters, their conversation simply continued with no apparent concern. They are apparently not concerned, or a least not moved to action.
The screaming went on and there were no other voices, no talking, yelling, running feet, furniture crashing etc. It trailed off into the town and was replaced by some male voices in the distance, then came back to the neighborhood in slightly less violent tones and then settled into sobs and retching. My stomach was tightening, heart racing - feeling threat, though it was not rational personal threat.
The next day, I ran into the middle-aged Ugandan nurse who lives in the compound-quarters behind my house and asked her about it. She gave me a slightly deprecating smile that implied it was nothing.... then said,"it is nothing to disturb you!" Hmmm - that's not doing it for me, because one thing is certain, I was certainly disturbed. So I prevailed, and was told "she was probably being beaten by her husband. But it is not for you - it is for them." Well that's certainly reassuring.
So then, I asked my visiting house guest, who lives on the compound grounds of a residential secondary-school for girls and she informed me that such screaming is not un-common and is not always proportionate to the event. Well now I feel better.... (this is certainly not helping). She explained that they often get that level of drama from self-imposed exorcisms and teacher inflicted caning - as in corporal punishment. Still not helping.
So, I am left looking at everyone I pass on that street now to see if there is any evidence of what went on in the middle of an otherwise quiet night in this small town in the middle of Africa, knowing that this and similar scenes are probably played out time and time again in other little villages where no one really intervenes or talks about it later.
This is Africa.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Mosquito Zappers
Can't wait! Bought a Mosquito Zapper today! Bright orange - looks like an atomic tennis racquet with a lightening bolt design in the middle. Turn it on and swing - zapping mosquitoes in the process. I'm thinking this could be an aerobic activity here Housemate, Jaron, bought his yesterday and announced a great inaugural night, zapping about 150 little blood suckers! We're thinking of having a zaper-thon tonight around dusk - maybe even notching our belts, if we had belts. Maybe markings on the wall like a prison cell count down. Can't wait t hear their little bodies sizzle... Yes - it's happening. I'm moving over to the dark side.
Will let you know how it works. So far, incense is of marginal benefit. It just means your a little more mellow when they bite. The fan is pretty good when there's power. The zapper has a rechargeable battery, so when it's all zapped out, you plug it into the wall and re-charge..... once again, when there's power. Must be sure to be at full charge when darkness falls -
Will let you know how it works. So far, incense is of marginal benefit. It just means your a little more mellow when they bite. The fan is pretty good when there's power. The zapper has a rechargeable battery, so when it's all zapped out, you plug it into the wall and re-charge..... once again, when there's power. Must be sure to be at full charge when darkness falls -
Friday, January 6, 2012
Small Pleasures
Yesterday dawned cool and breezy - lovely clouds in the sky - some looking like rain. I got excited - thinking optimistically that they would accidentally spill a few drops. They were just teasers... no rain - but one can dream. As I walked into town, with hat and sunglasses - always sunglasses, I was surrounded by clouds of dust so thick you can taste it, wrapping around my glasses and attacking my eyes. This mix is made even more heinous by being blended with soot, transported from the fields that are being burned to clear for planting in March, when - theoretically rain comes again. Everything in Uganda revolves around burning, digging, planting and harvesting. When I say everything, I mean it: school, work, transport, travel, health. The increase in eye, sinus and upper-respiratory infections is astronomical. And perversely, the mosquitoes are worse in dry season than rainy. The daily rain keeps water moving, while in dry season, the water left over from rainy season stagnates and creates the perfect swamp for mosquitoes.
To offset the malaise caused from heat and dust I decided to finally buy a few belated Christmas presents, the timely purchase of which was derailed by "the foot." So today I need to determine the best way to get them to the States. While that may seem obvious, here it is like solving a chinese puzzle. Finding packing supplies at all is like a scavenger hunt. Finding those that will survive the trip to the States, adds another level of difficulty. That's why - in the suggested packing list for PC, it's recommended we bring a bunch of bubble envelopes. Right - you're packing for two years in two bags totalling 80 pounds that you personally have to haul around? Bubble packets just don't make the short list. This is one of those things you miss in a third world country... Simple things like index cards, envelopes with stick-um on the back flap that really sticks, packaging, insect spray that kills, mirrors larger than the size of your hand... So I'll get inventive and hope the package holds up long enough to get across the pond.
Since yesterday was also a "power is finished" or power-is-not-there" day, it means either nothing gets done or folks (meaning mostly Munus) gravitate to the either Coffee Hut or Sankofa, two eating establishments that have power (even if it's a generator) almost no-matter-what. It doesn't take a business genius to figure out that people with computers, cell-phones, cameras, etc. that need to be charged will come and sit for HOURS while charging various gadgets and in the process order vastly overpriced food and drinks. These places do very well indeed. The fact that they cater to the western pallet helps: one can get almost-pizza, almost-hamburgers, almost-pancakes, pretty decent BLT's, milk-shakes (sometimes) and to-die-for Brochette made with fresh tomatoes and garlic - lots of garlic. It means that they are packed to capacity on no-power days.
Not wanting to spend my day at either, I opted for a compromise of exhausting battery power and heading for the only pool in town. I resolved that I would not be seen in a bathing suit or expose my skin (which, from living on a sailboat, has seen enough sun to last several lifetimes) to equatorial sun. But, this being the dry season, and there being water for the having, I succumbed and lounged around like a lizard, the difference being that lizards don't like water. Oh, it was grand, just looking at it. And on a scale of 1 - 10, jumping in was about a 15. So, I'll be back and it may be the saving grace of being in Gulu. Resolutions being made to be broken - I did not make any for 2012.
So that's it. Power came on just long enough to re-charge to 59% and it is now "finished." Ear plugs, a book light and Ken Follett's, The Pillars of the Earth will no nicely to finish off the night.
Dong maber (remain well)!
To offset the malaise caused from heat and dust I decided to finally buy a few belated Christmas presents, the timely purchase of which was derailed by "the foot." So today I need to determine the best way to get them to the States. While that may seem obvious, here it is like solving a chinese puzzle. Finding packing supplies at all is like a scavenger hunt. Finding those that will survive the trip to the States, adds another level of difficulty. That's why - in the suggested packing list for PC, it's recommended we bring a bunch of bubble envelopes. Right - you're packing for two years in two bags totalling 80 pounds that you personally have to haul around? Bubble packets just don't make the short list. This is one of those things you miss in a third world country... Simple things like index cards, envelopes with stick-um on the back flap that really sticks, packaging, insect spray that kills, mirrors larger than the size of your hand... So I'll get inventive and hope the package holds up long enough to get across the pond.
Since yesterday was also a "power is finished" or power-is-not-there" day, it means either nothing gets done or folks (meaning mostly Munus) gravitate to the either Coffee Hut or Sankofa, two eating establishments that have power (even if it's a generator) almost no-matter-what. It doesn't take a business genius to figure out that people with computers, cell-phones, cameras, etc. that need to be charged will come and sit for HOURS while charging various gadgets and in the process order vastly overpriced food and drinks. These places do very well indeed. The fact that they cater to the western pallet helps: one can get almost-pizza, almost-hamburgers, almost-pancakes, pretty decent BLT's, milk-shakes (sometimes) and to-die-for Brochette made with fresh tomatoes and garlic - lots of garlic. It means that they are packed to capacity on no-power days.
Not wanting to spend my day at either, I opted for a compromise of exhausting battery power and heading for the only pool in town. I resolved that I would not be seen in a bathing suit or expose my skin (which, from living on a sailboat, has seen enough sun to last several lifetimes) to equatorial sun. But, this being the dry season, and there being water for the having, I succumbed and lounged around like a lizard, the difference being that lizards don't like water. Oh, it was grand, just looking at it. And on a scale of 1 - 10, jumping in was about a 15. So, I'll be back and it may be the saving grace of being in Gulu. Resolutions being made to be broken - I did not make any for 2012.
So that's it. Power came on just long enough to re-charge to 59% and it is now "finished." Ear plugs, a book light and Ken Follett's, The Pillars of the Earth will no nicely to finish off the night.
Dong maber (remain well)!
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Relative Quiet and the Noise Within
When our group of twelve was posted to Northern Uganda, five of us in Gulu Town, we were told it's NGO central. I don't have a list of all of the non-profits here, but suffice it to say, if you threw a rock, (if you could get it out of your hand before being run over), chances are high that it would hit someone associated with an NGO. At no time as this been more evident than with their absence during Christmas break.
Gula streets have been amazingly calm, the exact opposite of what one might expect during a busy holiday season. Trying to figure this out, I realized that much of this is due to the relative lack of behemoth all-wheel-drive landrovers, etc. on the streets. I've only been almost hit once in the last few days and that was by a boda driver, not a barreling-through-the-streets NGO vehicle. But Gulu is a walk in the country compared to Kampala, which evidently was a hornet's nest over Christmas.
So, while it is hotter than ever and dustier than ever, it is also quieter than ever (during the day). The party-goers have, however, stayed home and life wakes up at night - so those are noisier than usual. Diana Gardens, the club that opened up in my back yard the DAY after I signed my lease, is a pretty nice club with decent pork and cold drinks when there is power and it tunes up nightly at about 8:00. Weddings go until dawn the next day and sometimes the next and the next. On a quite night they might turn down the music at - say 3 AM, unlike Amigo's a block over that goes full tilt all night. So when I say "the earth moved," it's unfortunately not what you might think... just the bass vibrations from the surrounding clubs. But in general, Uganda really does close down for Christmas. Case in point: I received a call from my supervisor last night and discovered my organization does not return to work until January 15th! So I am wondering, "What in the world am I going to do with my time for the next two weeks" Considering that we are advised to stay at site, don't have transportation anyway, can't walk far enough to reach anywhere in less that a week.... and transportation is a huge pain-in-the-butt... well you get the idea.
So I have resorted to working on an assignment for Peace Corps. We periodically have to turn in written assignments and these range from absurd tasks that seem designed to keep us on a short leash, to those few that make a bit of sense - somehow (Emergency Locator Forms). We balk at this, because most of us consider ourselves adults - wrongly so in some cases - and many of us have been there-done that and are insulted by things that feel like third-grade. At the very least, most of the hundreds of questions we are asked to address are things that a reasonably observant adult would notice about a new culture in which he/she is living, but not necessarily feel compelled to document, blogs aside ;-) That having been said, I finally resorted to working on the "Big One" which will result in part of a presentation made to the rest of the group (we all have to do this).
Obviously the doldrums have struck. I have: eaten everything that's not nailed down or wriggling, walked until I ache, spent until I can't, responded the the pitifully scant e-mail activity evident over the holidays, checked at the Post Office for packages that have been sent long enough ago to have arrived - but that haven't yet.... , washed mud boots and gloves for chrissake, studied Acholi until I now dream in Acholi and am now reduced to "homework." I have even considered buying a hoe and scraping the weedy patch in front of my house. Everyone does this and as far as I can determine, this appears related to the presence of snakes - even in the city. My supervisor tales the tale of sitting in his living room at night, enjoying a casual conversation with is wife, to discover a very large Cobra slithering down the hall toward the bedroom.
Back to homework.... It grieves me to say this and I am loathe to admit it, but I am finding this particular task a pretty useful exercise and one that will probably help me explain or at least document my ideas to my organization when we meet for their annual strategic planning retreat mid January. I feel twelve years old again - having to admit to myself that something my parent told me might actually have merit. We never entirely grow up... So I am doing a detailed two year strategic plan in the recommended excel format. Having already submitted to my organization a multi-page document about possible projects and contributions and having heard not a peep back, I hope I'm not wasting my time. I'm reminded it's the holidays and will remain so for a while.
Walked across town today to buy a sleeve for my computer to prevent its demise due to suffocation. It's padded and made of beautiful Swahili fabric. But today's crowning moment was tasting a real honest to god brownie with icing, made right here in Gulu, by a local Acholi woman. As the locals would say" "This is surprising why? Because Ugandan's don't do sweets." And this was a one of a kind, made in a local bakery by a young woman giving my house mate a gift. We are trying to convince her that her bakery (or she personally) could make a gazillion dollars if these were made available to Mzungus. Peace Corps would call this an IGA (Income Generating Activity). We would call it Manna from Heaven.
The marching band has tuned up and has added a measure to its four-measure repetitive "tune." I got all excited because it sounded for a minute like the end of When the Saints Go Marching Home. But alas, that was premature and it was only a tease.
The doldrums are an interesting exercise we've all been warned about. Down time in the States would be pregnant with possibilities. Here, the result is sometimes just a still-birth. When all else is "not there" or out of reach, the terrain one has available to explore is self. Where's my map and do I want to go there? Maybe there's still time to go get that hoe before dark...
Gula streets have been amazingly calm, the exact opposite of what one might expect during a busy holiday season. Trying to figure this out, I realized that much of this is due to the relative lack of behemoth all-wheel-drive landrovers, etc. on the streets. I've only been almost hit once in the last few days and that was by a boda driver, not a barreling-through-the-streets NGO vehicle. But Gulu is a walk in the country compared to Kampala, which evidently was a hornet's nest over Christmas.
So, while it is hotter than ever and dustier than ever, it is also quieter than ever (during the day). The party-goers have, however, stayed home and life wakes up at night - so those are noisier than usual. Diana Gardens, the club that opened up in my back yard the DAY after I signed my lease, is a pretty nice club with decent pork and cold drinks when there is power and it tunes up nightly at about 8:00. Weddings go until dawn the next day and sometimes the next and the next. On a quite night they might turn down the music at - say 3 AM, unlike Amigo's a block over that goes full tilt all night. So when I say "the earth moved," it's unfortunately not what you might think... just the bass vibrations from the surrounding clubs. But in general, Uganda really does close down for Christmas. Case in point: I received a call from my supervisor last night and discovered my organization does not return to work until January 15th! So I am wondering, "What in the world am I going to do with my time for the next two weeks" Considering that we are advised to stay at site, don't have transportation anyway, can't walk far enough to reach anywhere in less that a week.... and transportation is a huge pain-in-the-butt... well you get the idea.
So I have resorted to working on an assignment for Peace Corps. We periodically have to turn in written assignments and these range from absurd tasks that seem designed to keep us on a short leash, to those few that make a bit of sense - somehow (Emergency Locator Forms). We balk at this, because most of us consider ourselves adults - wrongly so in some cases - and many of us have been there-done that and are insulted by things that feel like third-grade. At the very least, most of the hundreds of questions we are asked to address are things that a reasonably observant adult would notice about a new culture in which he/she is living, but not necessarily feel compelled to document, blogs aside ;-) That having been said, I finally resorted to working on the "Big One" which will result in part of a presentation made to the rest of the group (we all have to do this).
Obviously the doldrums have struck. I have: eaten everything that's not nailed down or wriggling, walked until I ache, spent until I can't, responded the the pitifully scant e-mail activity evident over the holidays, checked at the Post Office for packages that have been sent long enough ago to have arrived - but that haven't yet.... , washed mud boots and gloves for chrissake, studied Acholi until I now dream in Acholi and am now reduced to "homework." I have even considered buying a hoe and scraping the weedy patch in front of my house. Everyone does this and as far as I can determine, this appears related to the presence of snakes - even in the city. My supervisor tales the tale of sitting in his living room at night, enjoying a casual conversation with is wife, to discover a very large Cobra slithering down the hall toward the bedroom.
Back to homework.... It grieves me to say this and I am loathe to admit it, but I am finding this particular task a pretty useful exercise and one that will probably help me explain or at least document my ideas to my organization when we meet for their annual strategic planning retreat mid January. I feel twelve years old again - having to admit to myself that something my parent told me might actually have merit. We never entirely grow up... So I am doing a detailed two year strategic plan in the recommended excel format. Having already submitted to my organization a multi-page document about possible projects and contributions and having heard not a peep back, I hope I'm not wasting my time. I'm reminded it's the holidays and will remain so for a while.
Walked across town today to buy a sleeve for my computer to prevent its demise due to suffocation. It's padded and made of beautiful Swahili fabric. But today's crowning moment was tasting a real honest to god brownie with icing, made right here in Gulu, by a local Acholi woman. As the locals would say" "This is surprising why? Because Ugandan's don't do sweets." And this was a one of a kind, made in a local bakery by a young woman giving my house mate a gift. We are trying to convince her that her bakery (or she personally) could make a gazillion dollars if these were made available to Mzungus. Peace Corps would call this an IGA (Income Generating Activity). We would call it Manna from Heaven.
The marching band has tuned up and has added a measure to its four-measure repetitive "tune." I got all excited because it sounded for a minute like the end of When the Saints Go Marching Home. But alas, that was premature and it was only a tease.
The doldrums are an interesting exercise we've all been warned about. Down time in the States would be pregnant with possibilities. Here, the result is sometimes just a still-birth. When all else is "not there" or out of reach, the terrain one has available to explore is self. Where's my map and do I want to go there? Maybe there's still time to go get that hoe before dark...
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